Cedar light, Chenin, and quiet instruction

Cat Power on low, the drafting table lit by a long stripe of afternoon. I pour a bone-dry Chenin cold enough to sharpen the edges; lemon oil and cedar linger on my sleeves.

I sent the final elevations to the atelier and watched one of the juniors fold the paper with the precise patience I teach—no haste, no excess. Tonight: a small plate, slow conversation, and that delicious hush when someone does exactly what you asked, right on time.