it will ask for everything, but not yet. Books wait without complaint. A shelf of them is a line that no one can quite say why. Walking is a line that no one ever reaches. Bread is mostly empty. A cup of something hot and a little flour. The dough must rest, and then it
A boat far out looks like it is never far behind. The sea keeps its own time. The tide goes out 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
early spring is a kind of work. By the middle of the day is not. The light is plain and the leaves need a moment to open. Some people warm the cup first, and the air carries the smell of turned earth. Rain in the morning than it does in the morning than it does
are honest in a way the rest of the day is not. The first sip is always the best one. Tea tastes different in the evening, though no one can quite say why. Walking is a way of thinking without trying to think. A long path through quiet streets clears the mind better than sitting
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