The dream has passed, the nightmare’s done, the sun is there behind the hill, his light, ready, so dim, a glow in the sky. A moment, and he’ll be a pinprick, so sharp, a blinding dot, and it will all be over. We wait in this hour, this breath, between the day and night. I do not remember, now, what visions beset me on my bed, but there is left a sensation, a momentum, a feeling, part pleasure, part fear. My eyes are clean; by sleep or tears they’ve been made clear of all of yesterday’s detritus. One must blink to see anew, must sleep to wake, must die, I fear I must die, before I can live again. The sun will rise again. The cold night is growing warm. The sun is behind the hill. I only have to wait.
Past Dreaming
Tale Told 