Cast in Cotton

I spent the day wrapped in metaphysical cotton,waking from feather-soft sleep to muted grey light beyond my window, created not from clouds but the absence of morning sun. It was false dawn which greeted me.

At work, there was an element of disconnection, as if I was observing events, but not really participating, at least until an errant sheet of paper sliced my right index finger.

With the welling of my blood came the sudden onslaught of noise and activity, as if the cotton had finally been ripped away, and I was once more part of the world.