suspension

The radio is warbling birdsongs. Will you be able to muster the energy, the will and velocity, to go running in the dark outside? Why, when the radio is piping in who-cooks-for-you, who-cooks-for-you, the call of the barred owl, and numerous thrushy twitterings besides. Why go out at all when you could stay in and answer the question by cooking for yourself. Boil up the tea and sip it instead of pounding over the steaming grates by the university, touch the flowers in the vase on the desk instead of brushing through sharp branches in the dark.

Will you propel yourself out into the evening? Cool night air has already seeped into the house. Blooms on the table and birds audible in dim domestic space. You hang lolling in the indecision, half-hoping that time will go rushing past behind your back and make it very suddenly too late, relieving you of the burden of choice. You mull on. You wouldn't want to do anything precipitate.