I LOVE TO look at dill. I love to handle it, chop it. It’s an elegant shape. Its featheriness is touchable; I brush it on my cheeks when no one is looking. Its brightness when fresh soothes my eyes. It looks especially lovely beside a newly sliced lemon. Sappho tells Mnasidica to garland her hair with sprays of dill to garner “a glance of the blessed Graces.”
Do I love to eat dill?
I like it. I don’t love it. Maybe
