A Sick Day

Sometimes, maybe once or twice a year, something takes my voice and my energy when I'm not looking, and I have to stop and lie down, and sleep. So far, my general health is good, and the voice and the energy return quickly; today was such a day, while the weather was as close to cool and clear and mild and clean as possible. I slept and read, mostly "Wicked" by McGuire, New Scientist, and slept again. I think I have some stories to tell, of sick days lying by a lake in Idaho, in the sun, warm in the sun on the grasses and sedges, cool in the shade of the granite pillows, while the shadows swung around the valley from morning to evening...