Last night I had a dream that I was dying. "Goodbye green earth," I thought. My last thoughts. And then I stopped that dream as I dreamt it and went back to another thread, thinking to myself 'no, no--not that--I don't want to be dying.'
The sun passes through clouds and the shadows shift on the bed covers which lay rumpled in lazy folds. It's a delicious sight. The camilla is heavy with blooms outside the window. The tree-like hydrangea, wrongly placed because I didn't realize it was that kind of hydrangea, is full of tiny green knots, promises of blossoms this year. I awaken to bird song, the mockingbird, the cardinal.