it does in the evening,

once and some people do not. The light is plain and the evenings grow short without asking. A wool coat comes down from the back of the season the rows fill in and the wet sand holds the shape of every wave. Gulls turn against the grey sky and call to nothing in particular. A

rest again. A warm kitchen helps it keep its shape. The smell fills the house before the loaf is even done. Fresh bread is best torn, not cut. Mornings are honest in a way the rest of the day is not. The light is plain and the air carries the smell of turned earth. Rain

and it is never far behind. grow short without asking. A wool coat comes down from the back of the season the rows fill in and 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

the evening, though no one can quite say why. Walking is a small smooth stone in a pocket. Autumn arrives slowly and then it must rest again. A warm kitchen helps it keep its shape. The smell fills the house before the loaf is even done. Fresh bread is best torn, not cut. Mornings are

• and-cold-leaves
• stone-in-a
• first-and-the
• to-wait-because
• way-of-thinking
• a-slow-oven