Rye diary: Days eight, nine, and ten

As I walk past the rye, sometimes I have to stop and just watch it. The smallest breeze makes it sway, which is one reason it’s so hard to take pictures that aren’t blurry.

This morning, a mizzling rain falls, but I’ll share photos from some earlier days. I’ve wanted to draw grand, insightful parallels to writing, but lately the rye has felt more like a meditation, a graceful and ragged silence.

Day eight:

rye with bloom and expanding spikelets

This was last Sunday, June 16. See how the bristles are spreading? I was thinking of a parallel with writing, how to grow in my work, I need to open up. It’s true, but it also sounds cliche. But the rye is beautiful in a tattered way.

Day nine:

Tuesday, June 18. An early morning rain left the rye jeweled. It’s so tall and slender, I imagine that a really hard rain could take it out. So on my way to work, I stop to capture this one picture. I’ve been doing a little research, and I learned that, for soil benefits, you’re supposed to till it under much earlier. But this sowing was more for beauty.

Day 10:

rye patch

Thursday, June 20. Another blurry picture. I’ve focused (!) a lot on the seed heads. Sometimes I like to look at the whole patch, down into the slender forest of it.