I was in a yoga class a couple weeks ago, and the teacher kept using the word investigate to cue us in the poses.

Investigate the backbend.

‘Twas 14 days before Christmas when all through the house not a creature was stirring, not even Whiskers, our caged mouse. The stockings are still in a crate, and it looks like St. Nick is running late.  My children had crashed, done counting sheep. My husband is all snug in our bed, fingers texting against my thigh in his sleep. Our beagle yelps, frustrated with that black squirrel haunting her dreams. Out on the road the late night trucks raise a clatter, an owl hoots as if nothing is the matter.