Mornings that are, and mornings that aren't

Some mornings are supposed to be, and some aren't. Margaret told me this morning that today's was a dire mismatch of blood and peanut butter and as a consequence could make no claim to be anything much at all. Bessy was licking the air like it was all that should ever have been. To me, it seemed like the night hadn't quite had its fill and the pleasant freshness of an unopened dream would have to wait another day.

As Felix and I sat down to drink our tea, Bessy wandered out over the sea in a trick Felix had taught her that made me think she was walking off the edge of the cliff when she wasn't. It was terribly realistic and resulted in me jumping after her without due regard to my personal safety. I hit the beach with a thud and saw them both smiling some way up.

I went home and forgot about work, and patients, and all the disease I might have treated in the course of the day. Sometimes one ought to take the hints one's wife provides first thing in the morning, and roll back over right away.