Learning the names of days, my son asks each morning for the signs that distinguish one from the next: is this the day the rubbish truck comes? Does Dad go to work? Is it music class today? And this day, one without any special markers, leaves me bereft of news to give him, only the name - Wednesday - and the thought that days like this are needed, when we simply live, and get on with life, while trees do their daily work and cells respirate, we too find grace in the normal, and the chance to try again what we left undone as yesterday's sun went down. All this I cannot say, only that these ordinary days bring their own small gifts.