Napping
Elongated limbs. Bodily branches reaching in the air, pulling out in every direction. Stretching far, further, furthest out to the absolute furthest comprehensibly possible point.
Ah. There.
The eased release. Energy slithering out. Seeping, sinking, slinking, slumping. Deflating after the urgency of moments before. Draping legs decorating the sofa. Blanket legs. Curled but not crumpled. Arms dreamily dangling. Throw pillow arms. The tingle of relaxation softly vibrating through the languid living room. Skin tingling. Just a rag doll ornament. Another fixture of the languid living room.
A lazy daisy.
No pressing or stressing. No required bamboozling nor prerequisite choosing, cruising, shmoozing. No daily grind. No grinding grinding grind. Crack! Out of bed. Crack! To the car. Crack! To the desk. Cramming, cringing, cranking. Cantering toward the breaking point until… Not today. Nothing. Only rest.
Only snoozing.
Soft sunshine seeping in. All is still. One with the languid living room. One with the squashy sofa. One with silent, sleeping air.
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