The language of succulents is a graphic one. A roadmap to the luminous written upon their bodies with black-tipped pens issuing white ink. Some of the finest writing happens on plants. And on stones, too. In the kitchen, the simple squeeze bottle writes in the language of pesto across a platter of heirloom tomatoes. Or potatoes. Mozzarella included. Or not. There are several haikus occurring the photo above. And below.
I'll take a ride to a small town to hear her words spoken
ReplyDeleteSunday faces looking for the right sounds
Scattered on the train tracks, too many losing propositions--
almighty savior of the unseen among us
bring forth thy shining light