“Drink the wine that moves you,” the poet Rumi says, “as a camel moves when it’s been untied, and is just ambling about.” This is the wine that moves me—this photograph of a garden sheltered from the frost. It leaves me cheerfully, joyfully, buoyantly tipsy.
It’s a crazy photograph. If there are rules to photography, this photo casually disregards them. It leaves the eye lost, free to wander about like Rumi’s camel, not resting in any one place for more than a moment—then moving on. But everywhere the eye roams there is something pleasant and appealing, some new detail that refreshes and invigorates—yes, and intoxicates. The plastic, the poles, the chicken-wire fence (the fence—she shot the photograph through the fence—madness!), every object “is a jar full of delight.”
I’ve sipped from this garden several times now, and I know I’ll come back to it again. I can’t resist. I don’t want to resist. I am a lush for this photograph and I will spend the afternoon ambling about with a camel-like gait, happily inebriated, smiling idiotically at everybody I meet.
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