,
The jolt of the chime should be classified a crime.
The ewes have called it a night and scampered on home,
ravenous for their morning graze. 300
minutes past the witching hour and I’m waking with the crows, bleary-eyed and
oh-so weary. I’m yearning for just a
smidgen of shut-eye. It’s not like I’m
asking for the moon, just a chunk of ZZZ’s to appease and help ease into the
monotony of 9 to 5.
Shovelling sand in pyjamas is quite the tedious task, as I’m
building sandcastles in the dark. Stored
under the bed are the tools of my trade:
Pails and scales in all shapes and sizes, taunting reminders of my sleep
deprived tales.
Never did I dream that I’d be watching the hands of time
crawl to a stall. I must confess I’m a
discombobulated mess, my somnolent state flung into a whole new level of distress: the nightmare of sleepwalking
the day away.
Squinting through cobwebs.
Next post: Next week, Tuesday or Wednesday May 5th or 6th or thereabouts. I'll update on my weekly reflections. Stay home and stay safe, my friends!
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| WHERE are the sheep???? |
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| Not a sheep |
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| Picturesque and sleepy - De Haan Aan ZEEEEEEEEEEEE |
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| Resting from building sandcastles |
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| Scribbling memories not so long ago |
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