That tiny voice from the other room saying, "Daddy." She doesn't know I am home. She has been napping all night. The sun has gone down, and her daddy and her sister are away, strumming guitars. I hear her tender voice but I say nothing. Will she call my name?
To the right of me are three dogs. Two of them overlap each other to be able to have a paw or a nose against me. They snort and roll in their sleep. The other one, the big one, is on the other side of the L. She is sprawled out, breathing heavily, whimpering. Her paws are huge, this one. I hope she is around to grow into them.
To my left is my coffee. Still warm in the yellow Am Kolel retreat center cup that says, "...then all the trees of the forest will sing with joy..."