Walking home with Jess and Max after dropping Alexander at school, out the old cloister gates and through the winding cobbled streets redolent of woodsmoke and the scent of baking bread. The rhythmic clang of metal on metal, not mechanical, hand labor, off some distance, but so distinctive you can almost taste it on the … Continue reading An Alchemy of Place…
“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…
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) 