A half-bright morning.

I slept till seven. Now I am sitting in this empty house counting the sounds that prove that my assumption of empty is specious: The dog's tongue slapping up water. The refrigerator's motor growling. The crabby finch blatting at the window.

Today: editing, housework, yardwork. The worst hour will be dinnertime.

Tomorrow will be day 2 of a new habit of life. Thursday will be day 3. Time will advance and I will figure out how to fill it.