The Path to the Millstone

The scent of ground grain lingered, along with the warm smell of old wood. The path had been well worn long before we were the keepers of the mill. It was a tower mill, meaning that the construction of stone and mortar at the bottom and red brick at the top made a tall tower where the sails could turn. I'd plant some flowers in them in the next few weeks. Panzies maybe, or geraniums if I thought the frosts were really over.