The house is cold. There is snow outside, coating the trees and the fence.
The world is silent.
My eyes are heavy, and want to close. I turn onto my right side, curl my knees just so to ease the aching in my back. I slow my breath. I imagine sleep.
The trick, I know, is not to think of sleep, not directly. If I chase it, it will slip away in a little spurt of alertness, replaced at once by the awareness that I am most certainly not really sleeping. The trick, I have learned, is to lie in readiness for sleep, to be open to it when it creeps in.
I begin to drift away on an almost dream of summer winds, but then I notice that I have drifted, and sleep runs away again.
A turn to my left side now, adjust the pillow, think of ocean waves. Relax, let go, just let it come and take me.
I float for a moment, filled with lightness, empty of thought. I see a student, one of my struggling souls. Worry rushes in, pushing out the light. I crash back to earth with a racing heart. Minutes drag by as I try and fail to turn my thoughts away from this child, away from the day, away from the TV news that is no doubt a part of his acting out.
My eyes are so heavy. They want so much to close and rest. I let the lids fall, but I find that I am still looking out into the cloudy night. Is there more snow falling now?
I turn onto my right side, hand under my cheek.
I try to let myself drift. I wait for sleep.