A threat of snow that will probably be rain dampens down the morning and I wake up finally vanquished by this cold that has been chasing me around with its burlap bag.
No wonder…Friday I spent 6 hours cleaning the house the effort of which induced muçh sweating and fatigue and yesterday, for M’s birthday, we went out twice in the cold rain, and both times I got chilled.
So now it’s Sunday in bed. Which means the 3 papillons are curled up in the quilt and Maudie is folded onto her bed n the corner. She groans and resettles. It’s not an unusual Sunday ritual, but this time I am here by edict and not by choice and the longer I can maintain the current state of restfulness and temperature, I am healing. We love when all of us are nested and still and they needn’t worry that I’ll go out without them; and I don’t have to. We are a tiny nation of nappers, of rolled up breathing, an industry of heat.
In one small boat, we float and bob over the hours as they follow one another into afternoon.