Westering sun

I spent the larger portion of the day asleep. As the bed lay disassembled upstairs, my sanctuary became our too-short couch. I hid myself under a coarse wool blanket, a loyal black cat fit himself in between the bends of my body, and I enjoyed a restful Sunday. Emerging again after sundown I was stiff and bleary eyed, feeling that strange sort of unhunger that allows for unnecessarily large dinners. Now I'm turning my week over and over again around in my mouth like an indigestable cherry-pit. The sun is setting on a certain phase, and glimmers of something new peep through like weak twilight stars. The depression seems to have scurried off as soon as I firmly, yet softly decided that I no longer wanted to be that person. A bit shaken by the simplicity of this happening, the weaker part of me almost misses the obligation to be sad, and now the challenge will be to keep those little Gollumy fingers out of the new activities on the horizon. When sad I was consumed, in a sense, by a vague shade of loneliness which remains as a wisp; the subtle sense that I'm missing something. I'm happy, I think, and feeling stronger without feeling harder. I'll wait for sunshine tomorrow, and see what the East will bring forth from the gifts West sent it tonight.