I was awake early yesterday; early enough to find my coastal suburb shrouded in an unseasonal mist. I thought of going for a walk. I really did. But the lure of a coffee and some time in my garden was too strong.
Around the garden, tiny pearls of water clung to leaves and flowers; everything seemed green and fresh and wonderful.
Between photographing these little gems, I picked the ripe tomatoes and plums, pulled some weeds and marvelled at the progress of fruit buds on the orange and feijoa trees and on our grape vine — none of which has ever borne fruit until this season.
For these moments of contemplation; of pleasure in watching the seeds I have planted grow — I am a morning person.