Rowan Tree and Red Thread

This morning Rowan picked out my shirt for me. She often does this, rushing
to the wardrobe from her bed when I go to her in the morning and choosing
from the various shirts she finds there.

On this occasion she took longer than usual and made a thorough examination
of several shirts before deciding on one blue one I haven't worn in ages. I
promptly put it on - the house was cold at 6.35am - and did up the buttons.

Rowan looked me up and down with an appraising eye and pronounced it good,
obviously pleased with her sartorial selection.

"You look smart, Dada!"

I wonder what she thought I looked like on all the previous mornings? Maybe
it's best not to know.