In the house on the Old Cape Road, a day becomes a circle to hold the simplest moments close.

Rituals find their intended pace: swollen bedding smoothed limp, water mounted on the stove hissing gently, gathering herbs, collecting thoughts.

Mornings are crisp as evenings - birds flood the dawn, then drown the dusk.
Sharp winds, and the brush is swiftly dry, only to be soaked in the afternoon.