Oops

I forgot to write yesterday! To be honest, I have no memory of yesterday morning, when I would have intended to write.  Each day has oozed into into the one before, leaving a slimy trail of time like a snail's track.

This morning, though, something shifted.  I'd left the windows open last night, and when I woke, the comforter was actually managing to live up to its name.  The air was new, blue, and chilly; it nosed over the sill and hunted around the bed; the air conditioner played dead.

Outside, everything is still a virulent green.  The roses of Sharon riot.  My baby is still a very small baby.  But I felt it, this morning: the tilt of the world on its pin.