I woke this morning particularly comfortable and warm.  As I regained my coherency, it became apparent that Pandora, my chamber maid, had taken the liberty of rekindling the fire, filling the bed-warmer with coals, and sliding it betwixt the blankets just next to my feet so discreetly that I was never disturbed.  Yet, I can hear her plainly in the adjacent room – aggressively laboring over woodwork and linen while singing the ancient hymn Of the Father’s Heart Begotten in Latin…♫

“Corde natus ex parentis
Ante mundi exordium
A et O cognominatus,
ipse fons et clausula
Omnium quae sunt, fuerunt,
quaeque post futura sunt.
Saeculorum saeculis”

 I must have been in a dead slumber.  I can recall no dreams which might have diverted my attention from the world of the living.  Yet I was gone, presumably to some place of unspeakable wonder or I surely would have remained.  Likewise, I must have returned because I find this world equally fascinating.  Though I can conceive of no alternative in my current state of consciousness, I must confess that this world appears a playground to me.  As I pull aside the window-veil and look down upon a snow-covered ground, I am filled with a vaguely familiar zeal of adolescence.  My heart is warmed by the permafrost, as I contemplate what to do – or not to do with this day.  Should I venture out into the street and consort with my fellow townsmen who are already engaged there in a bout of merrymaking?  Or, should I retain this perspective of the witness for some creative endeavor?  I shall decide after I have breakfasted….

~Mr. H.