You sleep deeply under the stars, no tablets necessary, the long day wavering far behind you. The lion's bark pierces your dreams; you stir, roll, sock the pillow, sleep again without really waking.
In the morning, it's 17 degrees, ice merengue glistens on the lawn, a skin of ice covers the pond.
The dream of Africa fades; all you remember is smiling in your sleep.
The floor is freezing. It's time to scrape the ice off the car. You can dream of the veldt another time, another night.
2 comments:
Nancy, it is beautiful to finally read your words about Africa. I don't think I really have before and that makes me feel sad. You've read me some of the journal entries you and Art made but... it's really nice to read these words. You are a delicious writer! I must say! Thank you so much for sharing this with me; it really means a lot. I can feel your African desires all the way over here in Baltimore, which again shows just how beautiful language is and how great I think it is you share yourself and the world with it. Again, thank you and talk to you soon.
I didn't know who Gregarious was til you commented, Aislyn, and it was the Baltimore that gave you away. Sincerely hope to see you this winter.
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