ABSTRACT
Deirdre sat in the chair closest to the window, watching out for the nearly-winter sun. She was an early riser, always had been. Didn’t care much for sleep. A notebook lay open on her lap. In it she had written “Tuesday” and “morning” and “sleeping well,” and had drawn a small circle surrounded by clouds. And then, without thinking, she had drawn two eyes and a smile inside the circle. She was waiting for morning rounds.
