There is something vulnerable about the human animal in the morning. Grass-haired and askance from rhythm; not yet fed, groomed, or conversed; the creature has not yet put on its skin or climbed successfully to its first challenge of the day's labors. It is almost sick, like a crumpled flower, it is automated in the lack of a program like those early toy robots that flail in sluggish mechanisms appointed to being by lack of clear meaning: bathroom, newspaper, coffee, breakfast, teeth brushing, etc. If any man wishes to learn humility, he need only observe his activities as they bumble through the veil of the morning.