It’s a dull, wet Tuesday afternoon in February and you’re
off work with some enervating condition or other. You’re lying on the sofa and feel
slightly chilled but not desperately cold. And you don’t feel like reading, and
you can’t think of any music you want to listen to, and there’s nothing on the
TV, and there’s nobody to keep you company and make meaningful conversation, and
it’s dark in the room but not quite dark enough to turn on the room lights, and
it would be too much of an effort even if it were, and there’s an inaudible hum
in the air which is squeezing your brain.
(There’s no such thing
as an inaudible hum. It’s an oxymoron.
‘There is if you’re me, and I’ll bet there are a few people
out there who know what I mean.’)
And your whole being is filled with the pressure to wake up
out of this suffocating nightmare and fly free, but you can’t because you’re
already awake. And the rain is raining in all directions as far as the eye can
see…
* * *
There’s been a lone bat giving me its close company in the
garden the past two twilights.
And I’ve had three rodent visitors in the house in less than
a week. That’s never happened before.
* * *
The caged bird sings
With a fearful trill
For things unknown
But longed for still
~Maya Angelou
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