Wednesday morning, I lay in bed, listening to the rain on the roof, the cat was snuggled down in the pillow, my pillow, trying to sleep on my head.
I set off to meet a client for a reading, got about a dozen paces outside, turned around, unlocked the door, and fetched up a wide-brim, black felt (5X Beaver), and slammed that down on my head. Then I set off again.
The rain, then the drizzle, and finally, just the trees shaking the water off, then drizzle and then, again, rain made me glad that I’d worn the hat.
I was crossing S. First, going to Bouldin, and as I glanced one way, then the other, I’d forgotten how nice the world looks from under the brim of cowboy hat.
“Some guys climb mountains, some guys jump out of airplanes. Me, I got a hat.”
