Lovecraftian Horror

In silence and in darkness and in cold the horrid unspeakable thing lay, growing, growing, growing, over the slow and patient crawling of time not measured by puny humans, until, at last, it burst the chains laid on it by its long-lost makers and crawled into the world of men...

***

I speak, of course, of my potato rosemary bread dough, which I left in the fridge to rise overnight.  While mixing this batch I got lazy and just dumped in all the potato water instead of measuring 3 cups, and the increased volume overflowed the bowl: 

But of the ancient mysteries of oxygen-and-sugar-burning, carbon-dioxide-and-ethanol-producing organisms that are yeast, I must not speak.