Paddle Leaning, Ember Raked Out

The long-handled peel has rested in this corner so many seasons that the plaster behind it carries a permanent shadow of its silhouette. I came back three mornings in a row to catch the moment the coals are drawn forward and the chamber exhales — that brief, sulfur-pale light that fills the throat of the oven before the door swings shut again. The paddle's warped grain and the scored wall beside it hold more history than any face I know.