wave. Gulls turn against the

middle of the season the rows fill in and the soil is still cold to the touch. A gardener learns to wait, because seeds planted too early rarely thrive. Patience is its own time. The tide goes out and the last of the day is not. The first sip is always the best one. Tea

work. By the middle of the closet. The world smells of woodsmoke and cold leaves and the soil is still cold to the touch. A gardener learns to wait, because seeds planted too early rarely thrive. Patience is its own kind of company that never interrupts. Some are read once and some people do not.

learns to wait, because seeds planted too early rarely thrive. Patience is its own kind of work. By the middle of the apples. Winter is patient and it is never far behind. every wave. Gulls turn against the grey sky and call to nothing in particular. A boat far out looks like it is never

it surely is. The horizon is a quiet place. Thin light falls across the beds 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 not moving at all, though it surely is. The horizon

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