You can almost taste it, that bright metallic sensation that floods the brain when it decides there will be no sleep tonight. Last night I tossed and twisted in the sheets while wondering if I’ve become a dinosaur. While the rest of the house slept, I lay wide-eyed in bed and listened to the insects buzz in the New Hampshire woods like bad reception. The world feels as if it’s spiraling beyond my comprehension, but perhaps I’m just getting old. Maybe it’s time to make some kind of cognitive leap or be left forever pining for the past.
In the afternoon, I watched a storm roll across the White Mountains, a line of thunderheads with an animal logic that dragged veils of rain across the trees. I watched the raindrops approach until they reached my toes and began falling on my head.
