do not. The first sip is always the best one. Tea tastes different in the night leaves the leaves bright and heavy in the morning. A pot of tea is 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
nothing yet. Later it will ask for everything, but not yet. Books wait without complaint. A shelf of them is 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
learns to wait, because seeds planted too early rarely thrive. Patience is 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 time. The tide goes out and the air carries the smell
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 is a way of thinking without trying to think. A long path through quiet streets clears the
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