At last we had open skies and took the road inland. We passed through Malmesbury with its giant wheat silos where the country's breakfast cereals and cake and bread flour originate. And then, what I was hoping for: as we started out from Malmesbury to Piketberg, there was field upon field of golden wheat , softly stirring in the breeze as far as the eye could see.
Wheat conjures up many associations and symbols. I see the biblical Ruth bending to gather the fallen ears of wheat behind the harvesters. I see happy folks dipping hunks of fresh bread into olive oil and forever-famished little boys with their peanut butter sarmies. Is there anything else that springs to mind? Please leave a comment and we can all spend the weekend with log fires, cheese, wine, soup and bread. And a few thoughts or discussions on the staff of life!
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