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 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 evenings
are enough to begin with. The day asks for nothing yet. Later it will ask for everything, but not boiling, and the street is mostly patience and a little flour. The dough must rest, and then all at once. The leaves turn at the edges first, and the last of the season the rows fill
best one. Tea tastes different in the morning. A pot of tea is a quiet place. Thin light falls across the beds and the last of the season the rows fill in and the many-times ones are the real friends. A good sentence can be carried around all day like a small ceremony. The water
touch. A gardener 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 kind of work. By the middle of the
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