I woke up early this morning -- 5:30 --
past the worst of this Hibernian plague,
and right away put on my sweatshirt and
walked out into the early glow. No rain,
and the wind had eased to a mere hum.
Pat's sheep across the cove already were
hard at their work of consuming grass, heads
bent to the earth. Gulls lofted in the thermals.
Frogsong -- or crickets? I couldn't tell.
I'd not had coffee yet, nor my daily ration
of oats, or strawberries. And I hadn't
really properly awakened, having strode
straight from the bed to the door.
I recommend this: proceed straight
from a dream to a completely different
landscape, on your feet. Not sleep-walking,
but then not awake-walking either.
A kind of blue limbo, with gauzy cloud-rags
at the edges.
(Except in this case, in the dream I was
an adult in a children's school-play,
and it was showtime and I'd not memorized
my six lines. Neither had I pulled together
a costume. So I solved this problem
by just not showing up for the event.
Sometimes avoidance is very successful.)