rejectomorph (flying_blind) wrote,
rejectomorph
flying_blind

Waking Late

The merest blur of moon penetrates the clouds which disperse its light over a shadowless world. A pine cone drops with a series of cracking sounds and soft brushings of needles as it hits branches on its way earthward, then a thud against the ground announces the return of night's quiet. I can no longer see the streams of smoke emitted from chimneys, but I can smell them, ghosts of trees drifting in windless chill. I saw little of afternoon, having wakened late, and I now experience that woolliness of perception which follows too much sleep. Hours later, I still walk the waking world with some part of my brain dreaming, or thinking it is dreaming. Half expecting strangeness from the familiar, the truly strange would not surprise me now. Were it easy for me to remain in this vague state, the temptation for me to do so would be great.

Down the block, on the opposite side of the street, a yard was renovated last summer, and small ground-hugging lights were installed along a quarter-circle driveway. Where the absence of leaves on the mulberry tree has opened a view from my porch, I see that five of the lights, from this exact angle, form a large V. The unintended symbol represents victory. It is the victory which order snatches from the random. Somehow, just seeing those small lights pleases me. It is like the feeling of taking control of a dream, and finding that anything the will desires is possible within it. At this moment, the entire night feels that way to me. I like that.
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