4. The dog holds a star and I plan actions The dog holds the puffy star in his mouth in patient offering to baby. Baby makes no movement, looks blankly at the animal and then away, out the window. Windex being the first item on the list for the grocery store tomorrow. Tomorrow I will arise from my warm bed a new person, clean with habits that cultivate happiness and productivity. Production having lately been a vapor. Late in the day the soup sun finally sighs, concedes to ice-hung air. Air of my next breath, air that has recently exited a dog, hot air of your lungs and of animals’, cuddle into me!! Me in the yard raking leaves two weeks after first snow. Snow I breathe audibly about our little house to communicate my deep unselfish commitment to the family to you without diminishing myself with actual testimony. The children of our neighbor come over to report: “Mama’s been spying on [ ].” [ ] being the person you are called. You appear to be the person called [ ] and need to continually operate under this collective assumption. Watch me. Here are my birds.