First Harvest

“Turn your face to the sun and the shadows fall behind you.”
~ Maori proverb

The Summer Solstice is the time of the first harvest, as well as the time to reflect on seeds planted in the earth and in our hearts. It is a time of cleansing and renewal, but also a time of pleasure and fun.

Cezanne's Carrot has grown from a tiny seed of an idea to its third issue. And what an issue! For this Summer Solstice, it is most appropriate that we have such a rich array and variety of work to offer. We think our readers will reap a joyous bounty from this summer harvest.

What makes these pieces so “harvestable”? Well, for us, language plays a large role. Language as luscious and juicy as ripe peaches freshly plucked from the tree, or language that lingers like seasoning herbs. Language that is unique and original, and pushes hard, leaping and jumping into sensory exploration. For example, consider Zdravka Evtimova's fiction story “Natalie”:

“I hate the long words,” Natalie admitted. “The letters are too heavy for them and they can't run. I forget what they are up to while I spell them. That's why I can't read long words: I hate to wait for them while they linger in their places and can't move on. They have letters of stones—you can take my word for that.”

What a beautiful and unusual way to describe long words. This striking passage stayed with all of us long after we read the piece.

Art Goodtimes' poem “Cloud Acre Solstice” opens with these lines:

“It isn't so much the standing still that makes us
turn our busy heads, but the way the Sun escapes

each dusk, sliding almost down to the Blues before
tromboning back to the high peaks of the La Sals.”

The language in this poem appeals to the senses through imagery and movement. It delights and surprises us. We feel the expanse of the scene.

In Elizabeth P. Glixman's nonfiction story “It Happened to My Father,” the sheer oddness of a word becomes a bittersweet exploration:

“The word lymphoma sounds so harmless to the medically uneducated, like a bubble-bath ingredient. Foam, phoma. Warm and fuzzy. Oh, Dad has the bubble bath disease. That can be washed away easily. A good soak in the tub.”

Even the artwork explores the fertile culling of narrative. In Deb Booth's “Amaryllis Blue,” we view the dialogue of dark and light through the dynamics of color. An exquisite cropping in the ever-evolving conversational process.

And these are just a few examples! All of the work in this issue taps into the core of language and turns it inside out. Sometimes the truth is as beautiful as a jasmine night, other times it's as hard-edged as bitter ale. But at all times, the language is nuanced, affecting, and compels the reader to explore new emotional, spiritual, and/or visionary landscapes.

We hope you will celebrate this season, a festival of community sharing and planetary service, with us. Burn a wreath in a Solstice bonfire or just dance deliriously around one. Pass on your poetry, stories, and songs. And, most of all, enjoy this most excellent summer harvest of voices in this, our third issue!

In peace and gratitude,

Barbara Jacksha Joan Kremer Lori Romero