When Sleep Comes


It feels so good to lie down and let the flannel wash over me like an evening tide, over my tired legs. I wondered how long it had been since they weren't tired. The pillow, tucked under my neck was dressed in flannel too. It rested there very dapper indeed, until I disturbed it by calling it to service. Without a grumble its fluffy belly happily cradled my mussed hair.

It had been windy when I climbed out of the car earlier this evening. Not particularly cold but damp, very damp, so much so that my bones quickly assumed their usual ache, but now, stretching out beneath the blankets, my limbs felt detached from the rest of my body, alone and almost numb. I could feel my heart pushing blood under the weight of the flannel bed clothes and just as readily, its return to my chest. The wind outside competed with the rushing of my own breathing in my ears. I let out a long sigh to slow my breath.

Sleep had not come easily to me lately. No matter how much I craved a good rest, it remained at bay with the coyotes outside, complaining in the distance. All the daily worry trickled around the edges, leaking through to unconsciousness and I often hung there in twilight, not asleep but not fully awake. It was becoming increasingly hard to distinguish dreams from actual thoughts. Perhaps another deep breath will allow me the luxury of dropping off into the dark blue and a peaceful night.

The flannel was now performing well and the damp chill that had been plaguing me slid out from under the quilt, onto the floor, and left the room in shame. With the warmth, my eyes were less enthusiastic about being open and I was glad my lids were getting heavy. They were becoming as tired as the rest from the day's activities, happy to join the group huddled under the thick soft cotton. All of me, together, hoping to gather a drop of the night until the next day.