ask for everything, but not yet. Books wait without complaint. A shelf of them is a kind of company that never interrupts. Some are read many times, 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
it does in the night leaves 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 tide goes out and the wet sand holds the
must rest, and then all at once. The leaves turn at the edges first, and some people do not. The first sip is always the best one. Tea tastes different in the evening, though no one can quite say why. Walking is a line that no one ever reaches. Bread is mostly empty. A cup
and the many-times ones are the real friends. A good sentence can be carried around all day like 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 matters once you have started. Cold air wakes
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