S is for

* * *

Sleeping late on Saturday morning, I lie in a state half-sleeping, half-waking, listening with one ear, to the soft whirring of the a/c on “fan” setting combined with the silky susurration of the wind in the trees outside. I am silent, but the dogs are snoring, and so if Fuzzy, the three of them making a silly – if sonorous – trio. I linger a bit longer, then stretch, thinking it would be smart to get up and start the day (at noon).

I sit at the edge of the bed, sip water, stroke the fur of each of my sleepy dogs. I kiss my still-dreaming husband, and he smiles – the reaction is automatic, I suppose. I stand, sliding one foot, then the other into soft fluffy slippers – it may be summer but the house is still cold, especially the floor outside the bedroom door, hardwood, and cool tile.

Shuffling a bit, because I like the sound (it makes me smile), I step down the hall to my office, sit at the computer, and stare at the screen. I choose not to set my fingers on the keys, instead I turn around, slide the miniblinds up, rest my arms on the window sill, and grin, spying birds playing chase in the sky, and a squirrel using the telephone wire as a sort of superhighway. If Cleo wasn’t still curlled on the bed, she’d be with me, her paws gripping the sill as securely as possible without opposable thumbs. She’s snarl and snap at the animals beyond the window, and I’d tell her she was loud, and thank her for sounding the alert that life exists beyond the house. (I realize she’s standing at the bedroom door, whuffling to get my attention, and I let her out. Zorro looks at me, but stays in bed.)

I return to the computer, feeling the breeze caress my skin in silky breaths, and I set to work on a project I’m not yet ready to share. Email, instant messaging – both sources of outside communication are ignored while I try to focus.

Outside, Cleo the sentinal shouts (well, barks) the arrival of the pool guy, come to play with suction and scrape the sides of the liner. I share a bit of cheese to keep her attention squarely on me, and stride back toward the bedroom. I slip inside, and she follows.

It’s no longer morning, but sleeping husband and sleepy Zorro are sharing alpha-waves, whether or not I want them, and I succumb. I slide back under the sheets, and close my eyes. A few minutes later the screen I’m watching is the one I call Imagination.