The lazy wind pushes against the unmown grass like a child sending a dandelion seeds on their way: one o'clock, two o'clock, three. Above the white wisps trail and the late spring sun brings a welcoming warmth that coats me as good as caramel over a harvest apple. My watch says it is near noon and I lay down here at ten, yet somehow my memory of the time is no more than ten minutes, twenty at the most. With a long exhale I can detect the tell tale signs that my brain is still waking from a nap, there are the vestiges of a dream, turning in nonsensical ways, grasping to remain. Then from nowhere comes the memory of where I'm supposed to be by this time and before the dream can reassert itself my feet are taking me down the knoll to the path below.


"Fine, just stop, okay?" Nyx finally says, putting his head on my lap.

"Yay!" I bounce up and down on the old orange seats of the Fort Collins Hospital waiting room in excitement.

"Would you stop? Your not letting me sleep." He mutters.

"Sorry." I giggle, settling down.

By aria, January 2, 2015.