Quiet morning and I can't wake up. Coffee, coffee, not enough, too much, doesn't matter, isn't helping. Believe it or not, I had a hard time getting to sleep last night. Maybe a tiny bit of PTSD? Like, one grain of sand on a beach of the real thing. Still, enough to make my body hum at a level not conducive to sleep for quite awhile. Once I fell, though, I fell to the very bottom of that dark well.
And now I can't seem to climb myself back out.

Mr. Moon and I may run away this weekend to Apalachicola. I am happy about that. Maybe this time we'll stay on the river and that would be nice.

That's what you see when you drive over the bridge into Apalachicola. 

Yes. 

A weekend away would be nice.

And next weekend, on Sunday, my birthday, I'll be getting in a car with my Lis and my May and we'll be making the long drive up to Asheville to visit Jessie and Vergil. Can you believe that? 

Today, though, I am at home. I think I will mop my kitchen simply because my feet want to feel a clean floor. And do laundry. Of course. Are we breathing? Laundry must be done.

I need to take a walk. I am not awake. I've been up a very long time and I am still not awake. I am between places and states of consciousness. I am in Apalachicola, I am in Asheville, I am in a car on a bridge over a river of dreams. I let polished rubies pass through my fingers like rosary beads, I float down a silver stream of forgetfulness. I sit on a beach and watch the eternal movement and breath of the planet. I watch silver fishes flash, boats with hand-painted names drift at dock, pterodactyl pelicans bump the water, open mouthed and rise with fishes captured in improbable beaks. I wake, I sleep, I rise slowly through mist and green water towards light. 

Somedays it is easy to believe it is all a dream.