Cold But Rhythmic
But it ought to be. Bare branches (with or without the snow) against a clear sky are to me some of the most natural sights to be found. Our ancestors grew to humanhood in the forest and the forest remains, in our deepest brain, the arch-type of both the best and the worst of places to be. It’s comforting under an overspread tree, it’s frightening amidst choking dense trunks at twilight.
The tools of conjuration
For bringing more than mere sustenance. In truth, we don’t really need to cook our food, for the most part. Okay, dried beans and rice need the touch of boiling water, but we don’t need Chili Verde con Carne y Frijoles, do we? Nor do we need Ginger Fried Rice. We need calories and proteins and certain minerals. Anything we do, beyond filling the need, to dress it up, is mere art, decoration, recreation. There is a school of thought that says the culinary is the original art, the first attempt at rising above the mundane, to achieve a place among the Gods.
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