, my morning began with a short walk. I’d cut a path across the kitchen and click on the teakettle. As the water boiled, I often looked out my back window at the street below. It wasn’t an exciting street. There were a few florists, a sushi bar, and above that, a karate studio. I liked it, my view. For fifteen years it was my weather channel (are people carrying umbrellas?), my newspaper (do people look sad?), my art gallery (the tiling of buildings some days looked cubist), and my clock. If from the karate studio at the end of day, I knew it was time to stop working.
