Saturday's child

Guess that'd be me, although I think I was born very early of a Friday morning, shortly after midnight, and I don't recall the dumb little poem which meted out attributes based on one's day of birth. It's just that it's Saturday, the weather is astounding, I got in a nice workout at the indoor climbing gym - ironic, perhaps, but we didn't have time to go anywhere outside
cragging - and got my mom out for a good walk. We went after her lunch, later than we usually do, and by the time we got over to see our friend's chickens, the birds were literally lying low in their coop, flat out in the dirt. They were making low noises that almost sounded like moans. I think they were hot and trying to nap.
Off to read more of The Razor's Edge.