All the colours that night swashed away are drifted back. Little Granddaughter is awake to see it. She knows the dark, the light, the time for breakfast.
Breakfast has a bowl and a spoon; one sits at the table, see Granma? I know this stuff: so wise now. Uh huh.
So much knowledge drifts in to her head: drops, splashes, floods, washes; wakes her from the dream of babyhood. When eating is done she gathers up the bowls, which, rudely, slip milk and cornflakes onto the carpet.
'Oh no!' Little Granddaughter takes my hand, leads me to the kitchen where I will find a cloth.
'Being with the wise, like meeting with family, is joyful.
Therefore, one should follow the wise, the intelligent,
the learned, the patient, the dutiful, the noble;
one should follow the good and wise,
as the moon follows the path of the stars.'