Even I realized this, as I strode crosstown cursing Gandhi after the penultimate wasted session with the bright, sympathetic but inexperienced student therapist.  Atmospherically the day was about perfect, cool but no need for a sweater.   The sky over NYC was the perfect eternal blue backdrop for a gorgeous technicolor post card, or a painting by Dali at the peak of his powers.

For Sekhnet’s part, she was dodging leaping kittens as she puttered contentedly in the garden, a lush natural world far from her troubles and worries, and my worries, and my troubles.