In the beginning, a turn.

This is the beginning of a bread pilgrimage. Not a journey, not an adventure, but a pilgrimage. Both the way and the end are unknown. What is known is bread: its density, its slowness, its meekness. It is, and by it, I am, wending up, and down, and through, the slow and measured way of perfection.

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Setting Out – a poem by Scott Cairns

In time, even the slowest pilgrim might

articulate a turn. Given time enough,

the slowest pilgrim – even he – might

register some small measure of belated

progress. The road was, more or less, less

compelling than the hut, but as the benefit

of time allowed the hut's distractions to attain

a vaguely musty scent, and all the novel

knickknacks to acquire a fine veneer of bone-

white dust, the road became then somewhat more

attractive; and as the weather made a timely

if quite brief concession, the pilgrim took this all

to be an open invitation to set out.