So long to the Pitti Palace and all the other marble temples we toured in Italy. I'm still dreaming about statues and columns--life as a baroque fever dream. Happy to be here in the land of stripped-down green where things admittedly grow at a much slower pace and the sun has a chilly northern slant. Even if our Mexican-grown tomatoes are bitter and genetically modified, and the cheese is woefully bland. There's a straightforwardness to our aesthetic which could translate well into stories. My favourite children's one, for e.g., by Richard Scarry (sp?)
"I am a bunny. My name is Nicholas. I live in a hollow tree."
Wouldn't you love to write a novel in similar style?
No need for literary trompe-l'oeil
The fact is, I'm baroqued out.
Enough, for now, to dig in the dirt and watch earthworms squiggle their pink escape. A marvel of undercover agency, busywork while things take root.
- A writer, mother, teacher, friend, I love books, blizzards and beaches, music from Hildegard von Bingen to the Beatles to Bonnie Raitt to The Brood; I love medieval churches, red wine, creme caramel, and roasted beets, and walking the woods and coastlines of home.