“I like reality. It tastes like bread.” Jean Anouilh …and then there are the rainy days, the snail days, the days of duck and cover. Weaving ‘round the puddles like a so-late-it’s-early drunk. And in a cobbled town, a labyrinth of streets, with a chill that filters up through roman stones and bones, a morning … Continue reading Bread Alone…
Several July 4ths ago, when travel was possible… Pine burns hot, fast and faster – tumbling headlong, embracing immolation in a hissing, spitting rush. It makes good kindling for harder species like oak and ash, a satisfying crackle of resinous sputters like tiny solar flares igniting the denser, longer-burning woods. I’ve spent the past several … Continue reading Another Place…
No greater thing is created suddenly, any more than a bunch of grapes or a fig. If you tell me you desire a fig, I answer that there must be time. Let it first blossom, then bear fruit, then ripen. Epictetus Behind the Roman Theatre in Arles – ‘behind’ being a relative term, in this … Continue reading Eat Figs While They’re Fresh…
…because once we saw a fox, spiriting the furrows at honey-dusk as we biked the railway embankment along the canal du bouc running from Arles to the sea, I always keep an eye out for him if ever we return. The embankment itself (re-purposed now as a cycle path) doubles for a stretch as the … Continue reading On hope…
“It is never the knife’s fault.” Daniel Boulud Every day, likely several times a day, I clean my chef’s knife. I hold the blade under running water, gripping the handle firmly in my left hand, wrapping a scouring sponge around the blade with my right and sliding it back and forth until it shines – … Continue reading On Edges…
“Memory really matters…only if it binds together the imprint of the past and the project of the future, if it enables us to act without forgetting what we wanted to do, to become without ceasing to be, and to be without ceasing to become.” Italo Calvino …there’s this rosemary bush in the Roquette. I mean, … Continue reading Things Past…
Art is the provocation for talking about enigma and the search for sense in human life. One can do that by telling a story or writing about a fresco by Giotto or studying how a snail climbs up a wall. — John Berger …there’s this path along the Rhône, it picks up where the eastern quai ends, … Continue reading Slow Food…
Chasing Snails (And Other Movable Feasts) 