The Art of Dinner in a Minor Crisis

If you kneel in a field in the June sun and bend your head to find the reddest, fattest strawberries nestled under the rows of nodding green, the disordered thoughts dancing like mad crows in your skull may settle.

They may sit quietly, exhale, and line up in a row of their own, waiting. Waiting and ordering themselves, making themselves smaller, unruffling their black feathers until the mad avian…