One of my best views of the orchard is from the study, just beyond the north terrace.
When I came downstairs this morning, I noticed I had left the window open overnight.
The room was cooler than the corridor, the curtains still moving slightly in the morning air. Loose papers on the desk had shifted. A few had fallen to the floor.
Nature’s gentle touch.
Nothing important was disturbed. But the room smelled of pine and damp stone instead of yesterday’s work.
Somewhere below the terrace, I could hear the creek, louder than I remembered it being yesterday.
A less gentle touch.
I picked up the pages and set them back on the desk.
I left the window open.