The top half of the door stays open from May on. Some mornings that's the first thing I see—the whole day still blue, the maple just inside the frame, everything unspent.
Then you go out into it.
The snapdragons get cut by hand, in the cool, before anyone's awake. Thirty-one Junes of this and the work hasn't changed: cut, carry, set them in water, open the stand. The light doesn't last and neither does the cool, so you move while you can.
It's a heavy armful some mornings. Most mornings I don't mind.
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