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2013-01-07 - 4:56 p.m.

Walking through a little woods, January sun low through the trees and weak on your face, after four days of the flu, is like coming up for air after a long time under water. The trees are browner, and blacker. The light is sadder, and better. Everything is heightened, after three nights in fever dreams, three nights of sweat on the skin, three nights of chills so intense there was only chill, and none of whatever comes in between the chills.

The orange juice, just here, is sweet. The Ken Burns documentary, later, will be starker. The air in my nose is cold and I'm glad.

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