rejectomorph (flying_blind) wrote,

Thinking of Padding Feet

The night is scented with dew. Now that the moon has set, the drifting clouds are no longer visible. The darkness is dense, the silence deep, the chill settles over the forest. I would like to spend an hour or two as a lion prowling that forest, smelling the scents and hearing the sounds with leonine acuity. I would like to run, and leap, and lap cold spring water rippling with starlight. I would like to be a lion who became a phantom and entered dreams, and wove them into revelations. And then I would like to be myself, and dream the lion's dreams, and wake in a changed world.

Indeed, I am tired. Too many days of too little sleep, and now my head nods and the thoughts inside it wander into states that are like dreams. I approach exhaustion, and would sleep for days, if I could. In fact, at this point, I would gladly enter a coma. I bet the coma would be full of lions.

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