Evening Inventory at the Glasshouse

At closing time the glasshouse kept the day’s warmth for almost an hour. Condensation gathered high on the panes, and the paths smelled of damp stone and rosemary.

Nadi carried a clipboard from bench to bench. She checked the paper labels, replacing those whose pencil had faded. Laurel. Myrtle. Lemon verbena. Names quiet enough to say under one’s breath.

A watering can stood beneath the fig tree. She filled it only halfway and gave each pot less than it might have asked for. Winter plants preferred restraint.

Outside, the garden became grey, then charcoal. Inside, the glasshouse gave back its heat slowly. A single drop traveled down the nearest pane and joined another at the wooden frame.

Nadi wrote the date at the bottom of the page. There were three unchecked labels on the far bench. She left them for morning, when the names would be easier to read.