For the pork butcher’s daughter, beauty is a paradox, at once eternal and transitory, absolute and particular, yet it is always rendered down in the kettle of our emotions.
Today I met the pork butcher’s daughter and was lost in the soft enveloping green-gold color of her eyes and the antipodean glint — reflected in her blade — of the deeply pulsing arterial purple in each hog’s stretched throat just before she cut.
the Porcine Oracle