Everyone mentions the weather. This morning my knee decides on its own to ache, to bite hard and with no warning. Betrayed, I stumble across the kitchen floor to grab breakfast. On the news, the weatherman says the latest hurricane has split apart, rain dripping south and wind swirling north, like the top cut off a muffin. I love breakfast images almost as much as breakfast, but not quite because i'm a reasonably good cook. The night nears an end, and I fly: away from one muffin and into the arms of another.