So Very Dark

It’s two thirty in the morning.

I need to go to bed, but the long hours stretch ahead of me, full of promise.

I have no particular plans or expectations, and two people in the house who would be disturbed by my machinations, but still I long not to sleep.

As the sun journeys from horizon to horizon my mind seeks out quiet empty places to doze out of the bright and the heat and the noise and the bustle and the demands and the questions and the million constant distractions and agitations, but once that golden ball drops sizzling into the cold Pacific, and only it’s more distant sisters dangle above me, my mind is set ablaze with dreams and plans and schemes, with stories longing to be told and journeys not yet taken, as though it lives inside my head at night, rather than circumventing the globe.

To give in to my noctournal leanings is a path to further sleepless nights and daytime schedules wandered through in clouded haze — so hard to remember the concequences when I have days yet before reaping them!

And my current state is one that shall be most receptive to soft matress and fuzzy blankets (even now I yawn…and again), but it pains me to surrender the hours that would be mine alone to greedy sleep.   And to the notion of adult responsibility that snuck up on me without my leave.

Though I am appeased in that I did have cookies for dinner a few nights ago.

(the bread was moldy so I was denied a sandwich)

(and screemed much like a little girl when I unknowingly touched it’s fuzziness.)

(not much like a cat.)

So, I leave you with a poem about another sleepless night a year or two past, penned mostly out of my love of highly formulaic and structured verse.  You may read it or not as you choose.