“I keep a list of heroes.” “When does grass turn to milk?” “The blue inside the flame.” These are rich threads woven into a story that’s beginning to reveal the mystery and artistry of its construction. The joinery of land, as skilled and purposeful a metaphor as the others employed throughout. Mary, I’m in love with your voice: not just the narrative on the page, but the cadence as you read, the lush delivery of every word. Heroes: you are one of mine. xo
"When does grass turn to milk?" Not only is the story you're weaving incredibly rich and complex, so are the questions within the story. I've never thought about when grass turns to milk, but surely it does at some point. And when does nectar turn to honey? I'm not sure but I know it takes some time. Regardless, I am looking forward to reading what happens next.
"through the quiet that is farmland, fields of checkerboard greens, of mowed, fallow land and planted land, growing fields of corn and soy beans. You can stand on the hill, the Loess hills where the sand blew into the flat land and made the apex where it’s possible to see it all, see the patterns of tracks in grass, lying in squares like painted frames of work by a lone man on his tractor, lying next to the work of another." I love this lyrical passage. There's nothing more beautiful for me than fields of crops and you capture their attraction so well!
Was my interpretation in alignment with yours? I thought quite a bit about it. This chapter is dense with metaphor and meaning, I feel I may only have scratched the surface!
“I keep a list of heroes.” “When does grass turn to milk?” “The blue inside the flame.” These are rich threads woven into a story that’s beginning to reveal the mystery and artistry of its construction. The joinery of land, as skilled and purposeful a metaphor as the others employed throughout. Mary, I’m in love with your voice: not just the narrative on the page, but the cadence as you read, the lush delivery of every word. Heroes: you are one of mine. xo
"When does grass turn to milk?" Not only is the story you're weaving incredibly rich and complex, so are the questions within the story. I've never thought about when grass turns to milk, but surely it does at some point. And when does nectar turn to honey? I'm not sure but I know it takes some time. Regardless, I am looking forward to reading what happens next.
One of my favorite lines ... Thank you so for taking the time to read, dear Susan.
"through the quiet that is farmland, fields of checkerboard greens, of mowed, fallow land and planted land, growing fields of corn and soy beans. You can stand on the hill, the Loess hills where the sand blew into the flat land and made the apex where it’s possible to see it all, see the patterns of tracks in grass, lying in squares like painted frames of work by a lone man on his tractor, lying next to the work of another." I love this lyrical passage. There's nothing more beautiful for me than fields of crops and you capture their attraction so well!
So glad you are still reading. Perhaps that perspective of things squared holds the character of Robert, as well.
That's a beautiful metaphor, Mary!
the blue inside the flame - oh, yeah!
How lucky I am to have found you, Adrian.
The criss-crossing tracks of our lives, sometimes ending in tragedy, other times, heroism. I feel Robert’s longing to know which path was his.
Was my interpretation in alignment with yours? I thought quite a bit about it. This chapter is dense with metaphor and meaning, I feel I may only have scratched the surface!
More to come -- as you read so deeply.
You are wonder and a gift in my life, Kimberly. What a reader you are. What a giver. What a heart.