In praise of an ordinary afternoon.

Not every good afternoon makes a good story. Sometimes nothing happens beyond a cup of tea going cold and the light moving across a table.

There is a kind of attention that only becomes possible when the day has a little space in it. You notice the sentence you would otherwise have skimmed. You taste the edge of something toasted.

A small pleasure does not have to become a habit, an achievement, or a photograph. It can simply be enjoyed.

A slice of cake helps, of course.