Ah, bitter chill it was (not)...

Last night was St Agnes Eve. I forgot to put herbs in my shoes. Nonetheless, I dreamed.

I dreamed I was having my first physiotherapy session, post-cast-removal, and it was going well, and the physiotherapist was pleased and I was incredibly happy. My wrist was regaining flexibility with each stretch, and my hand was regaining grip and precision control. Then I dreamed that I was walking beside a large lake with a certain ballet dancer and two of the characters from "Firefly"; we were having a nice, funny, intelligent conversation, and it was raining. I have to put the latter down to old-fashioned wishful thinking (and a bad attack of Crushia saltator); the earlier part I'll hope and pray was indeed the foretelling dream St Agnes is meant to give. I want my hand back.