When will it pass?

There have been mornings when I'd wake with an inexplicable sense of dread, a harbinger of some unpleasant event or an unwanted development. On most occasions, I was able to shake off the feeling, glad to be rid of it, though having felt it somehow prepared me for whatever happened later. Should I be grateful for these premonitions, made better for their warning? I rose twice this week with that heavy feeling in my stomach. It should have been a grand week - last week of the term, the end of grading, the beginning of some time at last to write and read, time for walks, time to clear and pack - but something was wrong or about to be very wrong, and I couldn't name it.

This too shall pass, by Justin Rutledge