It is Monday. Moon day. All aswish. Grey and dreamy. Looming. Timeless. The clock insists I'm late already, late from the outset, late and unconcerned. All the time in the world lives inside my shoulders, cradle of my chest. I breathe into it.

What makes this day different from the last? A chance of rain. The prospect of scattered phone calls and conversations. How quiet it is, and gentle. How deeply unconcerned.

I am grateful for the weekend's expanses of deep focus and the sewing of the seeds. I am glad of the return of the Chief Executive and his wife, the opportunity to step back into my own work, sweep the hearth, stir the pot.