Tuesday, October 22, 2013
I fell asleep in my reading chair the other night. It's easy to get all curled up in that lovely leather chair, covered with an afghan, thinking I'm going to read. All of a sudden, my eyelids grow heavy and my book, no matter how entertaining, can't seem to keep me awake. At Larry's nudging, I carried my weary body to bed and fell asleep again as fast as my head hit the pillow. But, then the thoughts of the day woke me up and I couldn't get back to sleep, no matter how hard I tried to breathe deeply and relax myself. While awake, cutting through the silence of the night was the lonesome whistle of a train. During the day, such a whistle sounds utilitarian, simply a warning signal. At night, however, it sounds lonely and mournful. I read a wonderful poem by a Facebook friend about the nighttime train whistle. Evidently, I wasn't the only one awake that night. Strangely, it was hearing that train whistle that interrupted my own train of a different kind -- a flurry of thoughts racing through my head. Soon, I was asleep once again.