Dog Day Afternoon

It is cloudy with occasional spits of rain in Portland today. My husband has the flu. I am recovering from a week in NYC and jet lag. The dogs are tired from guarding the house and begging treats. So all four of us are sacked out in the bedroom waiting for it to get a little bit darker so we can reasonably go to sleep. Or at least read ourselves into drowsiness.

It's OK to do this from time to time. I think our cave ancestors did, and possibly even the pioneers. I have lots to do: plans to make, books to write, and meat to thaw, but even Shakespeare warns us of ambition. Why not use this lovely gray day to slide into the back row and blink slowly in the dark?

Tomorrow is soon enough to do what needs doing. And after that there is Monday. In that spirit, here is a little snooze poem from Edgar Lee Masters, excerpted from "Tomorrow is My Birthday":

"Good friends, let's to the fields - I have a fever.

After a little walk, and by your pardon,

I think I'll sleep. There is no sweeter thing,

Nor fate more blessed than to sleep. Here, world,

I pass you like an orange to a child.

I can no more with you. Do what you will..."