Excursion

9.30 a.m. The door eases open and a Bread Loaf cottagemate peers in the shaded room. “Time to get up,” he says. “If you want to get through the morning, you’d better have some breakfast.” Half-awake under three blankets for the freezing summer nights, the pot of my brain instantly begins to boil. No words. The Waker is waiting. “This is the big one, you know,” he says, and guessing I have heard he closes the door. This encourages me to move.

I heave myself to the side of the bed and look down at my wife, still sleeping, her face mashed over on a pillow. I shake her; her eyes snap open as at an intruder. “Today, hon,” I say. “Remember?” Her face cracking with a yawn, she crawls out of bed.