Slow Beauty

At work this week I was told that everything I make is beautiful, but couldn’t I do it faster, you know, just step it up a notch? The answer to that is no, not unless I and the end product suffer. I’m more methodical than speedy. Anyone close to me will tell you I really don’t like being rushed.

This got me thinking about my process, and about beautiful things. Good sourdough takes time. Painting usually does too. Making quality things from scratch, like hand-dyed, hand-felted fabric, or handwoven fabric, hand-printed fabric with any depth – these all take time. Embroidery is another beautiful slow art. Maybe the handmade revolution will be a slow one, but I’d like to be part of it, stitching away in a quiet, cozy corner.

Right now, I’m working as a baker, and I make beautiful frangipane tarts, but banging out multiple batches of cookies is not going to happen on days when I’m asked to come in at what my partner and I have started referring to as “pre-morning”. If anyone hears of a job out here where I can quietly make beautiful things at my own pace, let me know – I’ll be looking.

It rained again today and I walked across the bridge into town, enjoying the raindrop spangled trees and trying not to step on bloated worms. The ocean’s surface was rough velvet, melting to invisible.

I am that girl who, drenched and dripping, is grinning wildly. I was soaked. I flirted briefly with umbrellas in grade school but found that they get in the way of the invigoration.

On my way home, the sky made room for a yellow sunset between the cobalt mountains and the dust-grey sky, just an apartment building and some poplars between this slow beautiful fizzle and me.

Good things are worth waiting for, right?

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