With peeping chorus outside, in the pitch of darkness, I lay wrapped in the softness of my grandmother's quilt. My body is warm, but cold from the lower corners where I dare not place my feet. My sisters breath is heavy beside me, each breath draws her closer to that place I dare not go.
In the comfort of towering darkness the frogs sing from their unrestful wet blanket. I imagine myself outside with them at play, forever awake, forever in chorus. About the house in search of small winged treasures, I run. Back and forth, from garden to pond, armed with net and jar. Under rocks, sticks and leaves I look insearch of something new. Butterflies dance and dart away from my net.
My sisters breath is heavy and draws me closer to that place, that place I dare not go.
Sleep comes hard and heavy.