Obviously not doing the sleeping I should.
I treasure these little night passages. I can hear the even, strong breathing of my partner in the other room. The city is nearly silent with delivery vehicles softly purring from far away to far away.
It is never dark here like it is on Mayne Island. It shimmers always.
On Mayne I get up in the big house and watch the clouds float over the moon and try to place the stars. And watch shaky little plane lights quiver from one horizon to the next.
My obsessions range from worrying about the protein balance in the mash for the chicks that are arriving this week and remember my Gran feeding them warm pablum until their little bellies swelled, their contented cheeps and watching as they fell asleep almost instantly. Narcoleptic chickens.
To wondering how they all are. All the loved ones. My children. My brothers.The Tinies. My mother.
I can't call them. It is the middle of the night and they are sleeping.
There used to be a time when I could check on their baby dreams and know if I could hear them they were just fine. Sometimes they used to open their beautiful blue eyes and smile and go back to sleep. Like chicks. Tim does that sometimes when I am watching him in the night. And sometimes I awaken to his blue eyes watching me.
I need to crawl in the little cubby at the back where we sleep. Under the Yellow Quilt. I will just have to bring them all with me and tuck them in too.
|Obsessive drawing- Egg Clutch|
|Night Sky Collage- in process.|