The morning steals in, dove grey light filtering through my soft eyes. The tides of day come, rushing to fill the cavern of night dreams. I stare through the shadowed fig leafs, the branches a mark against the down of the sky. All seems quiet as if I could hear the pulsing of time, a supple heartbeat, or perhaps the sound of wind in my ears. Lists and tasks call, but I cannot bear to take my eyes from the veins on those quivering leafs, they way the tree sits motionless before me, a barrier between the day and I and yet trembles with some unseen movement. And so I sit and pull the dreams of day, spinning the cocoon of thought and wrap them around me...

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