Sometimes sleep eludes me. My body and these chemicals may be still dancing their awkward uncomfortable dance. I roll on my side and close my eyes and move into that fugue of waking sleep. Always I am in a granite canyon, where the brown hard igneous rock is broken by the sparkle of crystal embedded deeply within the fabric, the very soul of the stone.
It is a beautiful place, but I am very lonely.
There are no stars or moon, yet I see. Like one of Michaelangelo’s prisoners it is there. Straining with heart, and soul, and mind to break free of the imprisoning stone. I see its dragon eye, redder than a ruby with its pupil of darkest onyx. I am not afraid, but I know should it escape I will have to face it.
I roll on my side, shifting the blanket to ward a draft. I wonder if my memory is addled, and I have written this post over and over. Sleep doesn’t come, I rise and prepare for work.