From 2c3df726763bad8caa6b47117619f5c0da0f7d8a Mon Sep 17 00:00:00 2001 From: Madison Scott-Clary Date: Sun, 22 Nov 2020 18:25:07 -0800 Subject: [PATCH] update from sparkleup --- writing/unseeing/foraging.html | 3 ++- 1 file changed, 2 insertions(+), 1 deletion(-) diff --git a/writing/unseeing/foraging.html b/writing/unseeing/foraging.html index 67052682d..aa249a45d 100644 --- a/writing/unseeing/foraging.html +++ b/writing/unseeing/foraging.html @@ -26,7 +26,8 @@

His walking stick, hard and long-cured, is used to drag the baked clay from the embers and the jug of water put in its place to bring to a boil. He says a short prayer to Ýng for his bounty, for his food, and for the taking of three lives in order to fill his belly, and by the time the last word is finished, the clay is cool enough to tap and crack apart to exposed his steamed food.

He sets the spent clay aside and unfurls the ferns from around his food. His first bite is of the curled heads of the fronds, seasoned with the fat of the fish and the heady scent of crawfish. His second and third bites are the flesh of the fish scraped away from soft bones with sharp teeth. The rest of his meal is a silent contemplation of what wonderful complexities the silty life of a crustacean may hold even as the tails are pulled from the crawfish, the meat eaten from within, and the butter sucked from the heads.

Fish skeleton and crawfish shells both are placed in the jug of water now boiling, the makings of a thin broth which will be his sup for the rest of the day.

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(foraging after fishing)

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For the third and final time, Lyut washes that day, and I revel in the act of his careful attention to his postprandial grooming. This is the time when he ensures that all of his fur is clean and free of ticks and fleas. This is the time when he massages the dirt out of his pawpads. This is the time when he brushes his whiskers. This is the time when he lays his fur in order. This is the time when he makes himself pure in body before Ýng, having already made himself pure in spirit.

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Too, this is the time when he makes himself pure before me, though he knows it not. This is the time when he gives thought to the direction his fur is facing. This is the time when he gives thought to any dirt which may cover him. This is the time when he, blind pekania, blind fisher, puts thought, however abstract, into his appearance.