Sunday, 7 December 2025

Sleep Snare





Dear reader, 

The croissant originated from Austrian pastry called "kipferl" with a popular legend crediting its creation to 1683 Viennese bakers celebrating victory over the Ottoman Empire by making crescent-shaped pastry after the siege of Vienna.This pastry was later introduced to France and transformed into the modern flaky version by french bakers in the the 19th and 20th centuries who adopted the kipferl and crated a laminated, yeast-leavened dough for it.

The earliest recorded introduction of the kipferl to France occurred in 1839, when Austrian artillery officer, August Zang, founded a Viennese baker in Paris.  Parisians fell in love with the kipferl and with Viennese baking as a whole and imitated the bread in their own shops. 

                                                                                 *

From Francis Kilvert  December 8th   1872 in Wiltshire

'at about half past four began the Great Storm of 1872.  Suddenly the wind rose up and began to roar at the Tower window and shake the panes and lash the glass with torrents o rain.  It grew very dark and we struggled home in torrents of rain and tempests of wind so fearful that we could hardly force our way across the Common to the rectory.  All the evening the roaring S.W. wind raged more and more furious.  It seemed as if the windows on the west side of the house must be blown in.  The glass cracked and strained and bent.... I went out to see where the cows were, fearing that the large elms inn the avenue might fall and crush them.   The trees were writhing, swaying, rocking, lashing their arms wildly and straining terribly in the tempest but I could not see that any were gone yet.'

 

                                                                                    *

Sleep snare
 
 
 
 
I lie awake and hear
the clock strike three,
and wonder how to
snare elusive sleep,
how to capture it,
how to find
its hiding place
and coax it back to bed.
I might entice  it
with crimson berries,
or butter croissants
then pounce on it,
and let it loose
inside my head.
But sharp is cunning sleep
it knows the tricks,
is bored of counting sheep.
 
 
 
I must fly northwards
to the moon
and let sleep take me
 
 
soon
 
          soon
 
soon ......... 
 
 
 
 
                                                                             *
With very best wishes, Patricia