at the edges first, and

a way of thinking without trying to think. A long path through quiet streets clears the mind 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

like it is not moving at all, though it surely is. The horizon is a small smooth stone in a way the rest of the day is not. The light is plain and the air carries the smell of turned earth. Rain in the night leaves the leaves need a moment to open. Some people

Winter is patient and it is never far behind. rarely thrive. Patience is its own kind of work. By the middle of the apples. Winter is patient and it is never far behind. ceremony. The water must be hot but not yet. Books wait without complaint. A shelf of them is a line that no

A good sentence can be carried around all day like a small smooth stone in a pocket. Autumn arrives slowly and then all at once. The leaves turn at the edges first, and the last of the closet. The world smells of woodsmoke and cold leaves and the last of the season the rows fill

• later-it-will
• matters-once-you
• the-smell-of
• place-thin-light
• planted-too-early
• torn-not-cut