In the dream, the baby is dying.

Should not have had all of that dairy in one day.

Whatever is clean and comfortable.

Never not working.

I take the New York Times and my lunch and sit out in the sun. It is bright. I can hear voices in the distance; I do not recognize them. In a little corner under an eave is a nest full of freshly hatched Scrub Jays squawking at their mother.

Sweating in the sun.

I tag along just to get out of the house. The weather is too perfect to sit inside all day.

A little bit of work that might yield positive results.

Hopefully, we haven’t caught ourselves in a pickle.

We are only human.