Lately I find myself thinking a lot about rest and my perpetual lack of sleep, and wish for sleep. Most mornings I wake up resentful of the first morning light.
I look at my sleeping children, their bodies warm beneath their covers, their faces perfectly serene. B sleeps this way still. His body, heavy and still, deeply settled in our bed, is completely unperturbed when he rests. I steal the hours of the night and sleep like a fugitive.
Oh, how I yearn for these beds!
“…Vague dream-head lifted out of the ground,
And thing next most diffuse to cloud,
Not all your light tongues talking aloud
Could be profound.”
July 7, 2010