I crawled into bed at two in the morning, the last of the Christmas ornaments safely stored.  My body was wired, vibrating; I felt over-tired, to the point of insomnia.  The lights were off, yet my bedroom was light enough that I could read large print.   

Ah. Snow light, the kind of glow that new fallen drifts radiate in the middle of the night.  Even with the shades drawn, in spite of an overcast sky, the bluish-grey light of snow invaded my bedroom.  I shut my eyes to blot it out.  No use; it’s bright enough to penetrate my taut and trembling eyelids.

The silk sleep mask helps a little, but the blueness seeps in round the edges of the mask, like snow softly filtering under the broken garage door seal.

Was it just the end of the holidays, the letdown after the Christmas rush that jacked me up, strung me out so badly, left me raw and burning under that quiet blue light?  Was it the worry and concern for my mother-in-law, admitted to the hospital for pneumonia – and possibly something else unspecified?  Was it simply the anticipation of a good old-fashioned snowstorm that kept me jangling, nerved-up, awake? 

I lay there, wondering, blinking under the midnight blue of silk protecting my eyes from the luminescence.  Listening, I could hear nothing; absolutely, stone cold nothing.  The muffled sound of sleeping birds huddled against the cold and wet, the sagging weighty whisper of fir trees under new, wet snow.

The sound of blue-grey light.  Then nothing.

5:10:11 PM    comment []