Category Archives: Sleep

Small Stone for 25 November, 2016

smooth stoneIn the early morning darkness, eyes are useless.  It is touch that defines the world — the warm cocoon of the bedclothes, the cool air on my nose where it pokes above the covers, the warm furry kitty body curled against my shoulder.  After a moment on the surface of wakefulness, I take a deep breath of quietude, and sound like a whale back down into the depths of sleep.

Small Stone for December 27, 2011

stoneThe grey kitty snoozes curled up into a ball under my chin, warming my heart.

Small Stone for October 31, 2011

stoneNestled snuggly in the darkness, I am a winter-sleeping mountain with a grey fog kitty in my valley.

Small Stone for October 5, 2011

stoneLying in the moonless darkness, I check my figures one more time.  The contents of the pantry, plus the contents of the freezer, plus the unopened bag of cat food in the coat closet.  More food than month.   I subtract one worry.  Sleep comes.

Small Stone for July 7, 2011

smooth stoneSuch a long sleep.  Diving deep within the dreaming waters.  Swim until that breath gives out.  Surface, gasping, porpoise breathe, and dive again.  And in the swimming, dreams like shoals of spangled fish, flit and dart. This one a barracuda, rippling sharpness.  That one a basking shark, huge and round and long.  And millions of mackerels between, blowing past me like a silver wind.

Small Stones for July 4 and 5, 2011

Small Stone for 07/05/2011

smooth stoneI took the book and opened it to chapter 1.  I’ll only read a chapter, maybe two.  I can’t recall the instant when the light switch of the world flicked off .  I don’t remember turning pages, the book’s weight resting in my hands. I don’t recall the  mantle clock donging out the hours, the settling of the cats beside me, or darkness falling. I don’t remember when the black print on the white page began projecting brilliant technicolor images on the silver screen of my mind. But there were people, in places, doing things, saying things, sights, sounds, sensations, vivid as a dream. THE END.  No! Not yet!

Small Stone for 07/04/2011

stoneA large, grape-green box fan, already old when ransomed by a fiver at a tag sale 15 years ago.  Inexplicably, the dial turns first to “HIGH.”  The motor rev’s the fan blade until it’s rattling the safety grills as it slowly hums across the floor.  (I am strapped inside its belly as the C130 Herk goes rumbling, jiggling,  juggernauting down the runway like a fat kid grim with determination to reach the plate before the baseball.)Turn the dial to “MED,”  The fan blade throttles back, the growl becomes a bass kazoo above a steady clattering. (The aircraft sits back on its haunches, points its clown nose skyward.  The rattle-tattle squeaking falls away with the ground as the lumbering metal bumble bee slowly winches itself skyward.)  Now turn the dial to “LOW.” I set the fan upon the rug to dampen the vibration, cock it, lock it into place with two heavy bricks set along its top. Then into bed, adjust the sheet, turn out the light. (The heavy metal albatross has leveled off to cruise at altitude and I am curled into the darkness of its craw as it goes droning onward through the star-pocked night.)  I would not take $100 for that fan.

Small Stone for July 1, 2011

stoneThe grey kitty has dozed off and left her motor running.