I’d walk for hours in dappled light, following gentle curves of narrow roads, their asphalt edging sharply into dirt, then grass. Green shivering as cars drove by, and I huddled near to its softness. The air, more often than not, was heavy and placid. Warm and warming, I’d wade through it, pause, as if I, too, were a mote suspended.
Everything moved with a stillness.
I’d gaze into the faces of Queen Anne’s Lace, note the elegant curve of their long stems, bowed slightly. The necks of each bud arching to create a network of many faces, flat exercises in symmetry and recursion, framing their shared shriveled purply-black eye.
*artwork: Queen Anne’s Lace V by Christine Reichon