The Wee Small Hours

Nothing happens in the hours just before the dawn, but my brain doesn’t know that. Peeved by it’s incessant activity, I try to lull it to sleep with soothing visions of fields drenched in lavender. I take deep breaths and imagine myself drifting aimlessly on a calm, cerulean sea. The warmth of the honey-golden sun warms my breastplate and seeps in to the recesses of my shadowed heart. For a moment, I am sun-kissed and soothed.

Just as sleep touches my eyes again, a warning alarm shouts out: “I don’t want to die”! Fully awake now, I think of my mother who died at 52. The memory of her half-smile brings a full smile to my face. I want to stay there in that moment with her. I desperately want to hear her chuckle at an old joke that is tired to the rest of us, but still brings her true joy. I want to remain in that memory but my mind is too busy doing it’s basic math. 52-34=18. I’m suddenly at the bottom of my cerulean sea with a cinder block-time-trap weighing me down.

In the following hours: I will stare at the traffic light outside my window and count down it’s color changes (5-4-3-2-1 Red, 5-4-3-2-1 Green). I will watch a squirrel enjoy it’s acorn plunder, as he watches me, watching him. I will note the shifting sun as it creates various shadows on my wall, through the accordion blinds.

After sleep eventually finds me, I will awaken to another day, and be grateful that it’s there to meet me.


7 thoughts on “The Wee Small Hours

  1. Thank you for sharing this my friend. Know the feeling of the mind running in overdrive, instead of shutting down for rest and renewal.
    I feel for your loss for your mother.
    I will try to find some rest now.
    Hope you have a good day! 🙂

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