We are what we repeatedly do. Aristotle You know how it is waking from a dream certain you can fly and that someone, long gone, returned and you are filled with longing, for a brief moment, to drive off the road and feel nothing or to see the loved one and feel everything. Perhaps one morning, taking brush to hair you'll wonder how much of your life you've spent at this task or signing your name or rising in fog in near darkness to ready for work. Day begins with other people's needs first and your thoughts disperse like breath. In the in-between hour, the solitary hour, before day begins all the world gradually reappears car by car. Deborah Ager