Monday, March 02, 2009
The night thickens with grey and silence. A flight of ghosts in the air. Sheeting.
I lay in the embrace of blankets. The night is listening. Like I am listening. Even my dreams are listening.
My warm and your warmth mix.
The clock glows the time, but numbers are meaningless. Just the wide spaces between pillows and dawn.
And dawn will come white. With more silence. Except for the plows rumbling. First a mile away, then thundering by with their scraping booms.
Day will embrace blankets too, as sunny sleep is often sweeter.
"Time to get up," you might say, not meaning it.
I'll flip the blanket up over our faces.
It's dark there. Dreamy warm.
Night and day forever.
(Written in honor of a night before a snow day. We're getting blanketed by a big snowstorm in the northeastern U.S.)