I lay somewhere between wake and sleep, that tangled place of sheets, timid sunlight, and chaotic dreams.
It is here, in the stillness, ideas surface. They come like trout to the surface, swift and fleeting. A twist of phrase, a leap of scent, a shimmer reminiscent of mountain sunsets.
I breathe slowly. One sudden movement and they’ll dart away. That one, there, just out of reach. It’s a big one. Hard to catch. Harder to hold. Ah. There it goes. It’s gone. Retreated to the deep. Waiting at the bottom beneath some great old tree for me to quit, give up, leave.