Birch Hour

A small notebook about ordinary hours. Morning light on the table, the sound of rain, a walk that did not go far.

Notes stay short. A sentence about the weather, a line about a book left open, the time the kettle boiled. Nothing here is a shop or a newsletter.

The birch by the window marks the day more clearly than a clock. In winter the branches are plain. In June they move when the air moves.

This page is updated when there is something quiet to keep. Most days it stays as it is.