Sunday June 24, 2007
“Oh what a beautiful morning,” I warbled, cheerfully.
“It’s not morning. It’s the middle of the night.”
“The grass is as high as a heffalump’s eye.”
“If it is you couldn’t see it. Or the heffalump.”
“How do you know heffalumps aren’t luminous?”
“I just do. Now, concentrate on your driving, do.”
And so I drove us home, very carefully, on a stormy night that was also very, very dark. Overhead the branches danced a quadrille in the wind but I didn’t say anything for fear of being told that I couldn’t see any branches.
I don’t have to see the branches. I just know they’re dancing.
The author, webmaster, and minder of the cat