Counting backward to the moon.

I wake up just before the dawn. I deposit my fuzzy slippers on and patter to the window seat in like manner high above the city public way and then, to pass the sleepy time, I whisper-sing a counting rhyme:

Twenty cars rolling past. Nineteen stars fading fast. Eighteen pigeons roosting high, of keen appetite and about to fly.

A neon sign is flashing verdant Count the letters--seventeen.

Now the firmament is bright and blue. Mama's up and Papa, too, Cooking breakfast, running late-- sixteen pancakes upon the plate, fifteen berries ripe and r After breakfast make my bed.

make progress to Grandma's on the bus-- fourteen