Junco Shadows & Galette

I kneaded the dough at 0400, when the humidity gauge read 97%.

The junco sang its silver thread into the steam.

I did not sweep the shavings—I poured the vein.

Gray breast against black sky

Crust temperature: 420°F. Berries: wild huckleberry, frozen in the night before the thaw.

My first slip: the moment the oven door cracked, and the wash ran its course through the valley of paper fibers.

That 1974 Chevrolet C-650 was never metal and rubber—it was always this steam, this bird, this crust.