Rumi’s dawn breezes – once sage advice – now taunt me. I am loathe to greet the day, not that I despise its arrival, rather that waking has become laborious since the onset of chronic illness. Daughter of a military man, I am conditioned to rise before the sun, have a lifetime of such anecdotes to my credit, however; while the brain is still willing, the body groans, and aches wail with renewed emphasis as the numbing cocoon of sleep loosens. Hours dwindle from the first inkling of consciousness till muscles comply with movement, and I am lucky if I’m actually able to utter ‘Good Morning”.
Rays, like razors, slice,
invade sleep’s cocoon – absent
(Mish is hosting in the dVerse pub tonight with the prompt of morning. I have also worked in the promptings of Fandango (loathe), Ragtag Community (labour), and Daily Addictions (sage). Thank you all for your inspiration.)