Pieces. Or Peaces.

Hot chocolate with a layer of cinnamon edging the cup like frost.
Music spiraling out to settle on limbs like so much soft, dreamy lead.
The periodic trilling of that puzzled cat.
A very, very good book, its pages splayed out like hands.
The lady at the PT office calls to see if I am coming tomorrow.

No, still a bit sick. But not all bad.