So tired it’s 2.28am.
I’ve crawled into bed
That place where my brain rebels
Insomnia fairy and writing muse lurk in the shadows of my room.
Hello it shouts as my head greets the softness of my pillow.
It shouts don’t forget tomorrow you need to buy cat food.
Shhhhh! Stop im shattered
It’s like having a hyperactive child who has an obsessive need to tell me random things in the early hours of the morning.
Or discover a line of a poem I’ve been baking in my head.
Oh and you need to ring the g.p before 8am
So if you hurry you may just get five hours sleep.
Have you locked the car?
You forgot to bake banana bread
Did you wrap the crystals up ready to post tomorrow?
Has the dog had her spot on flea treatment this month.
Shall we go out for Christmas lunch or stay home?
What time are trago mills open until on a week day.
Who played the detective in all that remains ?
What that on BBC or Channel 4 ?
I concentrate on my breathing
Mindfully imagining a beautiful beach and the sound of the waves on the shore.
Have you switched the washing machine off?
I open my eyes
The Pendle witch peers at me from her broom stick on the ceiling
I think I see her smirk.
She knows my nightly dilemma
I reach for my pad and pen
Put on the salt lamp and write.
The glow from my window
By the canal I wonder how many other witching hour writers are out there?
Out of bed pen in hand woken or kept from sleep
Scribing tales poems blogs.
Until the writing blurs ideas quieten
Sleep finds us.