A Saturday morning after nine hours of solid sleep means I wake up with a sense of possibility again. A little ambitious. A little looser of joint. A little softer in my approach. A little prettier, somehow (isn’t the mind a miraculous thing?). A little peaceful. A very little bit happier.
What happens to us asleep? How does the unconscious bring us through the nightly fire of our terrors and failings to a quiet morning’s optimism? I am so grateful. The sun is out. And there is coffee. Thank you.
Doc and I walked through the gorgeously anachronistic
where I live on the less gorgeous edge. I brought the camera and found small
indications that it is October at last. Irvington