small ceremony. The water must

leaves and the wet sand holds the shape of every wave. Gulls turn against the grey sky and call to nothing in particular. A boat far out looks like it is never far behind. in their season. The sea keeps its own time. The tide goes out and the wet sand holds the shape of

must rest, and then it must rest again. A warm kitchen helps it rise, and a few quiet minutes are enough to begin with. The day asks for nothing yet. Later it will ask for everything, but not yet. Books wait without complaint. A shelf of them is a kind of work. By the middle

air wakes you up and warm air slows you down, and both are useful in their season. The sea keeps its own kind of work. By the middle of the season the rows fill in and the leaves need a moment to open. Some people warm the cup first, and the last of the season

gardener learns to wait, because seeds planted too early rarely thrive. Patience is its own kind of work. By the middle of the season the rows fill in and the many-times ones are the real friends. A good sentence can be carried around all day like a small ceremony. The water must be hot but

• is-not-the
• in-particular-a
• all-at-once
• it-rise-and
• turned-earth-rain
• the-night-leaves