Don't Call it Sleep

Life as a series of trust falls.

The decision to let go can take years or it can happen in an instant. There is no control once you are falling. Who will catch you? Who will not? I'm wondering why I keep insisting on this lesson.

The drought continues, turning everything to cement and dust. I'm artificially keeping everything alive, and as it turns out, I'm not that great at it. The real danger is revealed when I stop trying.

A cardinal perched on intersecting street signs lifts as the dog and I pass. Without any rain, pollen still hazes everything and is stirred by the slightest disturbance. Lungs, hair, and hearts are dusted.

My parents never stay in bed. I've seen Mom nap less than a handful of times and Dad might “rest his eyes” on the trampoline of the sailboat after many hours of strenuous outdoor work. Don't call it napping. Don't call it sleep.

Depression overtakes like a rip current before I even realize how deep it is. My only safety is sleep and I have no choice but to let the world pass without me for a time. God save the garden. God save the girl.