You only live twice.
Once when you're born,
And again whern you look death in the
face.
-- Ian Fleming, You Only Live Twice
I'm drifting... drifting. A pillow under
my head, a puppy on my butt, and Conan in my ear. The blankets are snug around
me, cocooning me in lavender warmth.
Heavy eyes, a shifting light, then a
vision of bright snow. Bare birch trees reach up as fluffy flakes drift down
towards me. I'm lying on the ground, and cold. So cold that I can't even
shiver, I barely feel the snow as a few tufts find purchase on my face. When I
look down on my cheeks I can see them, blurry and not melting. I try to move, I
need to brush them away... and I'm falling. I'm falling off a cliff.
The fall jerks me awake, although now I
don't think I was exactly asleep. I'm rolling over, the blanket off, exposing
my shoulder, and my arm braces me against the mattress, saving me from the
tumble and certain death.
Disoriented for a moment, I can't
understand why my little dog hasn't awoken as well. But, what was a trauma for
me, didn't even register to her. She is still snuggled in, now tucked safely
under my rear.
Pulling the blankets up, I wiggle back
down trying to find warmth and security, listening to late-night
advertisements, knowing it will be a while before I drift off again.
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