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 April 30, 2001 Monday Shivering into the hand that holds me. Pressing my nose into the cloth, sniffing for safety. Sometimes I feel like a scared shivering mouse searching for safety. If I'm lucky someone will hold me, soothe my ruffled fur, lightly pet my head. Reassure me that I'm safe. His hands, so large, surround me. Strong and gently touching. Disconnected thoughts running here and there. Perhaps a little too much beer. Should have stopped at one. Now I'm sleepy and achy. Just wanting a warm bed and strong arms around me. I was good today, wore black socks with my black pants. One of those rare occasions that I match and follow that particular fashion rule. Cracking my neck, stretching my back. Back to the picture of a small mouse held gently by a large hand. The fingerpads seem rough, stained with grease or ink. The thumbnail uneven, ragged. The mouse appears still and calm but with a watchful eye on me. Wary of any possible trouble I, the viewer/photographer, might cause. Having written about pain I now want safety and warmth. Sweet dreams to carry me away into oblivion. |
