just before we sleep, the kettle is boiling. I pour hot water onto chamomile teabags in white mugs. then there is the sound of geese honking. i worry about why they are flying at night, and think about how their wings will frost with cold, and their beaks will develop a silver glaze. the sound passes like a tide - loud, louder, quieter, quiet, until it fades. the sound of the cat crunching his biscuits brings me back to the kitchen, and another day passes.