It's early; too early and for no reason at all I'm up. Dark and cool, the languid silence is interrupted at regular intervals by the cacophonous concert of out-of-tune instruments that is my husband's snoring.My eyes closed, I can nonetheless sense the quiet lighting outside, as if a pantomime of high-wattage lumens seeks my attention. It must be raining, because erratically, the wind blows through, spilling gushers of fluid in doing so. If I were outside, I might feel that I'm trapped in a dark children's waterpark, one with water guns, fountains and those buckets that fill and dump from above with seemingly no schedule. The house is quiet but for his breathing. What can possibly be going on in his nasal passages to make such a diverse range of snorty sounds? If it were a few hours earlier, I'd skedaddle down to the basement, but sooner than not, another rooster will crow, and then the race begins anew.