Dew and chamomile

I got up before the sun: chamomile is picked while the dew is still on it. At that hour the flower holds the most oil — by noon it is already a different flower, and you can see it in the colour of the infusion.

I picked two mornings in a row and filled a basket and a half. It dries in the attic in a single layer: heaped up, the centres darken and the whole harvest ends up in tea rather than in a cream.

The dog lay at the end of the bed the whole time, making sure I would not leave without him. The cat did not sign up for stories this early.