On a morning like this, when the sky drifts pearly and loose, you could drift all pearly and loose yourself.
Hang out with nothingness. Swim with silence. Just like that.
Of course it would be unseemly of you, un-Yankee of you, un-you of you to shirk the day’s tasks. To turn away from the world. Stow the oars. Drift.
But on a morning like this, just for a moment, you go missing.