The first hour belongs to no one
No phone, no news, no plan: a cup of coffee and the light moving across the table. What happened when I kept one hour a day for nothing at all.
No phone, no news, no plan: a cup of coffee and the light moving across the table. What happened when I kept one hour a day for nothing at all.
In November the beach is empty, the focaccia is still warm and the fishermen have the seafront back.
Opening hours are a suggestion. The recommendations are not.
Market gardener, Provence — “I stopped counting the hours. I count the seasons now.”
We have learned to fill every empty minute. We may have lost something important in the process.
Old arches, harbour gates and windows in fortress walls: a small collection of frames for the horizon.
One story, one place and one thing worth making, delivered twice a month. Nothing more.