Lawrence Weschler quoting Curzio Malaparte at Wondercabinet:
One night I spent in a sunflower field. It was really a sunflower forest — a real forest. Bending on their tall hairy stalks, their large, round black eyes with long yellow lashes misty with sleep, the sunflowers slept with drooping heads. It was a clear night, the sky steeped in stars shone with blue and green reflections, like the hollow of a huge seashell. I slept hard and I was awakened at dawn by a gentle soft crackling. It sounded like the rustle of people walking barefoot through grass. I listened holding my breath. The faint couching of motors came to me from the near-by encampment — faint voices calling to one another in the wood by the brook. A dog was barking in the distance. Down on the skyline the sun was breaking through the black shell of the night, rising warm and red over the plain glistening with dew. That rustle spread and became louder every minute. It was by now like the crackling of a brushwood fire. Now it was like the subdued creaking of a vast ground, I held my breath, watching the sunflowers slowly raising their yellow eyelids and gradually opening their eyes.
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