This is the third post in a series on giving ourselves permission not to be perfect, which seems to be tied up with being sick and getting enough rest and something else that hasn’t yet emerged. The first post is here, the second is here.
This is not my usual form of blog post, but just I’d had 14 hours of delicious sleep, and I woke up and typed this straight into my phone.
Falling asleep early because
I was tired, but I’m always tired
these days. And it was a long night:
dark, warm, punctuated by dreams,
playful cat, noise from the street,
light, dawn. And I’m still sleeping.
I slept late, through all the hours
ante-meridian. Through the lace curtains
I can see there is sunlight
on the golden leaves, and perhaps
blue sky. The birds are singing.
I am still warm. For the first time
In a long time, my cup of sleep
runs over. I let it spill
over all the afternoon hours, liquid time
and liquid sleep flowing together
in the filtered front-room quiet.