Mind Blur

Nothing added up: why the bird at the feeder looked like a dove with a big head when she knew it must be a juvenile cardinal or why, despite the unexpected coolness, the air refused to refresh, unwilling to reach the bottom of her lungs, or why the vaporous fabric of her dreams now enveloped her once-familiar back yard.

Everything seemed disturbingly out of reach, like a language she was suddenly unable to read, like a book held too close, like how the word elephant ceases to have any meaning after said aloud fifteen times.

She was torn between resistance and acquiescence. Should she square her frame and march forward with purpose, forcing the day to come into intelligible focus? Or flop into the hammock and rock herself back into a comfortable stupor?

This hazy dilemma was proof that she needed no outside stimulus to keep herself amused. Her imagination had followed her into retirement like a faithful dog and she would not want for entertainment.