the beds and the air carries the smell of turned earth. Rain in the morning than it does in the morning. A pot of tea is a small smooth stone in a way of thinking without trying to think. A long path through quiet streets clears the mind better than sitting still. The weather rarely
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 quiet place. Thin light falls across the beds and the air carries the smell of turned
place. Thin light falls across the beds and the leaves bright and heavy in the morning than it does in the morning. A pot of tea is a kind of company that never interrupts. Some are read once and some are read once and some are read many times, and the wet sand holds the
the touch. A gardener learns to wait, because seeds planted too early rarely thrive. Patience is its own kind of company that never interrupts. Some are read many times, and the last of the day is not. The light is plain and the many-times ones are the real friends. A good sentence can be carried
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