Don’t you wish they would stop, all the thoughts swirling around in your head like bees in a hive, dancers tapping their way across the stage? I should rake the leaves in the carport, buy Christmas lights. Is there really life on Mars? What will I cook for dinner? There’s frost on the front lawn, dry branches on the stoop. I walk up the driveway to put out the garbage and think: I should stop using plastic bags, call my friend whose husband just left her for the nanny from Sweden, a place I might like to visit. I wish I hadn’t said Patrick’s painting looked “ominous.” Maybe that’s why he hasn’t answered my e-mails. Does the car need oil? There’s a hole in the ozone the size of Texas, and everything seems to be speeding up. Come, let’s stand by the window and look out at the light on the field. Let’s watch how the clouds cover the sun, and almost nothing stirs in the grass.