This — I said to Percy when I had left our bed and gone out onto the living room couch where he found me apparently doing nothing—this is called thinking. It’s something people do, not being entirely children of the earth, like a dog or a tree or a flower. His eyes question such an activity, “Well, okay,” he said. “If you say so. Whatever it is. Actually I like kissing better.” And next to me, tucked down his curly head and, sweet as a flower, slept.