“often when one is asleep, there is something in consciousness which declares that what then presents itself is but a dream”. Aristotle.
Still, I lay still, while a spectre, like smoke, mysteriously vanishes to reveal – a face?
My avatar manifests, assembles through the half light, grainy.
My throat, dry, what do I say?
All I can do is stare, a strange mortification looms and grips.
Time lasts forever, not long enough. Agony, eternal…
Birds begin to sing and tweet. Softly, then rising in volume as my ears auto-adjust, accommodating sound.
Diffused, but brilliant light. Air, clear, crisp, cold and a sharp intake of breath. Am I awake?
Still, I lay still. I sigh, deeply. My hands, woven, cradle my head. Eyes on repeat blink search the space above my head…
Am I awake?