If it's a moment in time, how come it feels so long?

[sovay]

Last night on a snow-salted suburban road I saw a deer bound suddenly through the splash of the headlights, followed a moment later by what must have been a pair of coyotes because it's been centuries since there were wolves in this part of the world. It was so folkloric, I expected to see riders the next moment, or the moon. After days of sleepless free-fall and headache it hurt to breathe through, I spent much of this afternoon unconscious, which was terrible for my exposure to daylight but produced vivid dreams only occasionally suggesting a surrealist facsimile of same, such as the second-story view onto a green quadrangle where a policeman was bleeding out milk. Hestia is trying to climb through my arms as I type in her best doctorly fashion. In nearly half a lifetime of chronic illness, I don't think I have ever felt this daily-basis bad.

Comments

[davidgillon]

I forgot to mention anywhere that post-midnight last week I'd heard the thump that usually heralds a fox arriving in my garden (they can't quite clear the fence). So I stuck my head between the curtains to look for it and stood still for a couple of minutes, letting my eyes adjust to the darkness, spotting nothing and thinking maybe they were outbound. Then it occurred to me that there isn't actually a bush in the corner of the patio - the fox was sitting two feet from me and I hadn't noticed it in the dark.

[sovay]

Then it occurred to me that there isn't actually a bush in the corner of the patio - the fox was sitting two feet from me and I hadn't noticed it in the dark.

That's wonderful.