Wind and Rain
02/26/2010 04:47 a.m.
It's raining cats and dogs, or so they say. The wind that accompanies this particular rhythmic precipitation is the kind that makes you want to turn off all of the lights and crawl deep under the covers and peer at sleep. Sometimes the dreams that will be dreamed are almost visible there, behind the initial veils of slumber; and sometimes they remain hidden until the wanderings in imagination lull one's consciousness to the pale and watery visions that will be recalled most clearly only just beyond the next waking...this is sleep.

It's raining cats and dogs, or so they say. The wind that accompanies this particular brand of precipitation is the kind where you can't turn off the lights, for fear of being left in darkness; alone to answer the howling calls of the looming midnight. Sometimes the dreams that will be dreamed trail away there, just behind each veil of slumber; leaving in each anxious wake a haunting laugh: at the leaking eye, or drooling mouth; a jolting retreat to the consciousness that escapes repose...this is tossing and turning.

It's raining cats and dogs, or so they say. The winds and rain are silenced by the low volume of the television set that was neglected to be turned off and the dishwasher that burst from silence into its heavy duty cycle, having succumbed to the expired timer. Lights still burn, but not ambiently; rather, the glare which encourages the rubbing of burning eyes coupled with yawns. Yes, the kind of light in whose shadow one can find the foot which has long since gone to sleep from lack of tapping, wiggling, or any movement...this is yearning for sleep.

It rained cats and dogs, or so they say. The winds that blew all through the night were the kind that keep you alert and wondering if the aged pines have withstood yet another blasting onslaught of wintry pressure, the kind that makes each creak and crack outside of the window raise a hair or two on the neck of the listener; wondering whether a stray branch will snap and become shrapnel to the roof. Eyes without dreams have been held in tired hands and have dared not close, only briefly; having nothing to do with lurid imaginings of the night...this is sleeplessness.

The forecast said 'more winds and rain.' It's bed time.


I am currently Quiet
I am listening to everything