Early Sunday morning. The child is still asleep, and even the cats are recumbent, building energy for another day of stalking each other. The coffee machine gently burbles, and my tongue glides across freshly minted teeth. My students hate Gertrude Stein, but she is right, it's repetition, repetition, repetition with slight variation. The child will be a day older, the cats more scarred, the coffee machine older, the teeth more worn out. When the child, the cats, and I act and react today, it will be with one more day of experience, one less day to experience. One day closer to completed understanding, one day less to complete understanding. A winding up and a winding down. One more and one less Sunday morning.
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