Consider the liles of the field, the blue banks of camas opening into acres of sky along the road. Would the longing to lie down and be washed by that beauty abate if you knew their usefulness, how the natives ground their bulbs for flour, how the settlers’ hogs uprooted them, grunting in gleeful oblivion as the flowers fell? And you—what of your rushed and useful life? Imagine setting it all down— papers, plans, appointments, everything— leaving only a note: “Gone to the fields to be lovely. Be back when I’m through with blooming.” Even now, unneeded and uneaten, the... Read more →
