Utterly exhausted you crawl into bed, knowing full well that you will not be able to read for more than a page before your eyes give out and you are asleep.
Sure enough, three quarters of a page later it is lights out and you snuggle down into the fluffy warmth of the duvet and begin to drift. The pale light of the streetlamps casts a screen on the wall and bats are silhouetted within it as they flit about their nightly business. They will be hibernating soon, it is getting cold. You wish the mosquito that bit your finger was hibernating. Permanently perhaps.
You toss and turn shifting position with almost clockwork regularity. Bits of you can’t get comfortable, bits of you supremely comfy and not wanting to move. The two can’t agree and you are caught in the middle. Nevertheless you are now moving more than you have…
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Viv Drewa - The Owl Lady 