I was dimly aware that it was a glorious morning and that I ought to be grateful for it. The waning moon hung low in the western sky. The east was streaked with pale gold clouds; the sun wasn’t up yet. Also the frost was thick on the windshield, and the goats (who had heard the door shut behind me) were bellowing to be milked, and I was hungry and I wouldn’t feel safe eating while driving so I had to get breakfast into me, and I had to be on the road by six-thirty. I’d been up since half past five, but I’d wasted half an hour restarting the wood boiler because I slept through my alarm at two o’clock when I should have tended it. And I was especially reluctant to arrive late for the meeting at Gloria Ormond’s house since she was no longer in remission.
The goats must have felt my impatience. They both dithered; one stepped in the milk pail. I started the car, cranked up the heat, ran inside to wolf down cold biscuits and fret about wasting gas instead of scraping and then had to scrape anyway to clear a patch I could see through.
Anyway, a little later than scheduled, here are this morning's news headlines . . .
Opening: Joanna.....Continuation: Anon.