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The harried office worker stops off at the shop for a loaf of bread. Tomorrow, his five year old will make the World’s Greatest Sandwich from its 5th and 6th AND 7th and 8th slices (it has to be at least a triple decker to be the Greatest!) Its enormous, and the bread is broken as little Tommy tears the monster sarnie into chunks a little more more manageable for a five year old mouth…

The Baker nods in satisfaction as she sees the dough rising in the furnace of the oven, and the smell is wonderful, but this place is so, so hot…

The flour is ground, and ground, and ground right down, until you think there’s nothing left, and what use is this mere dust?

The Farmer celebrates the culmination of Winter’s long labours, and the satisfaction of a job well done…

The wheat sways in the breeze that plays over these sun dappled field, the bird-song drowned out by the sound of a combine…

A seed falls to the ground, and dies.

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