The Minimal

I asked my great friend, Randall Lake, for a photograph of his compost pile very recently. I knew it would be good- but how could I have known it would be this good? For all my internet friends out there who allow me the usurpation, I have only this response:

The Minimal

I study the lives on a leaf: the little
Sleepers, numb nudgers in cold dimensions,
Beetles in caves, newts, stone-deaf fishes,
Lice tethered to long limp subterranean weeds,
Squirmers in bogs,
And bacterial creepers
Wriggling through wounds
Like elvers in ponds,
Their wan mouths kissing the warm sutures,
Cleaning and caressing,
Creeping and healing.

-Theodore Roethke



When I begin to dream of house decor and styling my own, this photograph comes to mind. Something about an all white, white room and stacks of books on the floor appeals to me greatly. Maybe the conceptual economy of the surrounding space coupled with the physical reductive quality of what a plant needs to thrive alongside you in your civilized invention of home is soothing to the cluttered mind. A drawing of lots, even, that makes the human in the case at ease with itself. And, of course this little tree is poetic to me. What else does anyone need, really?