It’s black, can’t sleep. Try three times, I imagine technicolour skies over fields of black and white until I see the light trickling into my room. I get up, careful not to rouse the one beside. I’m home at dawn.
Not a sam to sound alarm, best friend peaceful by the dancing wiseman. I pitter patter. Misty hayfields lure me out the door to the pink skies, my eyes are saturated with the colours of green and blue and pink and silence. Except the wind rustling through the grass, except the ducks calling, except the water trickling. I stand on the hill and marvel at the peace, at the hour, at the scene. The dew numbs my feet, my ankle throbs, glad he didn’t sleep outside. The sun comes up red-orange with jets marking the trail west and the glow burns into my retina.
It’s so peaceful I could go. And I feel like I don’t need to understand anything anymore. The sun warms my heart and turns me to the strength and love I contain. Ambiguously content, content with ambiguity, slowly marching through the cold wet grass, over sun-warmed tiles, into the warm house, coffee waits.
The alarm rings at 6:15. A sam to sound alarm, dog’s best friend says “Shut up”. “Ron, wake up”. “Have a good day”. “You think that’s gonna happen?”.
Five minutes of my reality. The silence (the birds tweeting, water flowing, grandfather ticking, snorers sleeping). And I wonder about my reality.