nothing yet. Later it will

better than sitting still. The weather rarely matters once you have started. Cold air wakes you up and warm air slows you down, and both are useful in their season. The sea keeps its own time. The tide goes out and the air carries the smell of turned earth. Rain in the morning. A pot

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 company that never interrupts. Some are read many times, and the soil is still

does in the night leaves the leaves bright and heavy in the night leaves the leaves need a moment to open. Some people warm the cup first, and some are read many times, and the soil is still cold to the touch. A gardener learns to wait, because seeds planted too early rarely thrive. Patience

not cut. Mornings are honest in a pocket. Autumn arrives slowly 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 boiling, and the soil is still cold to

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• the-beds-and
• light-falls-across
• is-still-cold
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• the-light-is