The step is the policy

My boots are green and they are wet from the path, which is a ditch with ambitions. They live on the step. The map lives on the table. These facts are not in conflict unless someone decides mud is part of the atmosphere.

Mees arrived in the rain and put a black pair beside mine. They fell into the rosemary. I stood them up. I am not his mother and I am not the hall's. I am a person who can see a boot in a herb.

Sander, who is here on Saturdays and therefore inherits every mess at full size, said the colour is our business and the inside is not. I am putting that in the paper because new people read the paper first and the board second, and Eva is right that they then confuse the two. So, plainly: this is a description, not a vote. The vote already happened. It was muddy boots and a look.

If you are Koen or Hanne and you come for a guest night later, the step will teach you faster than I will. Stand them up. Come in with dry feet. The twenty minutes are short enough without a lecture about rosemary.