It is 5:58 am and the dogs rush back inside, ever hopeful the world will have tilted on its axis and bowls will be overflowing.
But we pass at the threshold. Through the glass the spotlight moon issues an invitation. Nightgown-clad, barefoot, step into the cool surrounded by walls of sound. All the birds in town are yakking, like a crowded diner full of sopranos discussing the latest backstage drama. The Maestro smiles down on us all.