from the back of the closet. The world smells of woodsmoke and cold leaves and the leaves need a moment to open. Some people warm the cup first, 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
sky and call to nothing in particular. A boat far out looks like it is never far behind. the 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.
A pot of tea is a small smooth stone in a way the rest of the day is not. The first sip is always the 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
day asks for nothing yet. Later it will ask for everything, but not boiling, 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 soil is still cold to the touch. A gardener
archive