Ekwerkwe

I awoke this morning before anyone else and sat quietly, just sat quietly, in the family room. Raindrops on the skylights, light dim. A few months ago we ordered BendBroadband's version of Tivo, the box for which hums exactly like a fishtank; our refrigerator, it turns out, is also loud. Hmmmmmmmmmm.

I had slept all night in the crack between the kids' bed -- waking once in the night but too leaden to move to my own room. My eyes felt like (to borrow my husband's phrase) two piss holes in the snow.

I remember feeling like this in the mornings on camping trips: feeling stuffed-up and achy and incapable of motion. On camping trips, though, one can always climb outside the tent and stretch in the cold air. One listens to animals rather than mechanical hums. So I stepped out my door to get the newspaper.

It sounded like an aviary out there. So many birds talking! Call layered over call, like people's conversations at a dinner party.

I said hello to the quail crossing the street. They ignored me; but yes, I do feel better now.