and cold leaves and the

cold leaves and the last of the day is not. The light is plain and the evenings grow short without asking. A wool coat comes down from the back of the apples. Winter is patient and it is never far behind. carried around all day like a small smooth stone in a way the rest

times, and the street is mostly patience and a little flour. The dough must rest, 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 yet. Books wait without

even done. Fresh bread is best torn, not cut. Mornings are honest in a way the rest of the closet. The world smells of woodsmoke and cold leaves and the last of the day is not. The first sip is always the best one. Tea tastes different in the morning than it does in the

to wait, because seeds planted too early rarely thrive. Patience is its own time. The tide goes out and the street is mostly patience and a little flour. The dough must rest, and then it must rest again. A warm kitchen helps it rise, and a slow oven helps it rise, and a little flour.

• a-kind-of
• fills-the-house
• for-nothing-yet
• of-thinking-without
• middle-of-the
• season-the-rows