Dream on
Dream on
Nobody needs a daily report of Bubba’s sleep, but 10 o’clock to 0600 was eight hours. Minus a 21 second break and straight back to sleep. To not look at the clock when I rouse for the break lets me go back to sleep. The dream may even have resumed. Tucking that one away so it doesn’t evaporate and can be recalled when next unable to fall asleep. Having a moment to retrieve from a cranial crevice, real or dream, can obliterate everything around it like a movie, fading, phasing, an old silent film, cut to the chase. “A dream itself is but a shadow.” But no less a shadow than is a memory a shadow. Cut to Hecuba. zzzzz
While I slept through, Linda woke at two o’clock to what she said was the most violent thunderstorm to have passed through since we’ve been here. Donner and Blitzen. She checked to see I was breathing (wait ‘till you get here, you’ll be checking too), but I remember the first week in our dorm at UFlorida. North Hall, a fire drill at one or two o’clock in the morning. Philip was up and rushing about trying to waken me and I could not be roused. Panicking, he shouted to no avail, shook me, 18 year old college freshman asleep beyond waking as the fire alarm rings on and on. 62 years ago this past September. I owe Philip a letter.
