Slow-Cooked Sentences

I have found something beautiful

Rachael Conlin Levy

Update: My favorite packet of seeds planted this spring — Drunken Woman Frizzy Headed Lettuce,¬†which seemed appropriate given the transformation to my own head in Seattle’s misty weather. Thanks to Denise, for reminding me.

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The sky is nonexistent, gray-white, as if someone pulled a plug and drained the color out of it. There is so little there, the air as soft and thin as worn flannel, without definition, without shape or relief. The dirt is dark and heavy, the grass saturated with green, and the robins sing gloriously from the trees as if it does not matter that the sun never left its bed today. I pull two radishes from the dirt and eat them. They taste sharp and cool.

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Mesmerizing:

“This is how the field should be enjoyed, just to stand in one spot and observe. It’s so visually minimal, the field itself, that you start noticing things that you wouldn’t normally notice like an ant walking across my path or maybe a little centipede or a beautiful pebble. It’s not rich in visual data, which I think that is why it’s so soothing.”

— Anne Cooper speaking in “The Very Rich Hours, Part 1: Home” by Steve Peters.

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2 responses to “I have found something beautiful”

  1. Kate says:

    I feel I’m walking through that thin flannel air, pulling red radishes from dark earth. Beautiful. As is the Peters piece.

  2. I’m looking forward to pulling our first radishes. We’re getting a late start, but I’m feeling optimistic.

    Your portrait is fabulous.

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