I remember, “bedtime”, she said.
I remember the light still streaming, despite the shade, through the square of window above and a little to the right of my bed (looking toward it), lighting my pink room and the bed with its royal blue “velvet” comforter, not really velvet but velour but soft enough under undescriminating young fingers.
I remember the light and the birds still calling their neighborly evening songs and out there, outside the window the clear evening sky overarching the wooded fields across the road that I could see if I had been tall enough, tall enough to look out the window, big enough to “stay up”. The end-of-day light spreading its soft hand over the grass, greening it, make each blade stand up straight, one last muster before rest, over the cornfields, hazy and full of promise.
“But I’m not sleepy”, I would say.
“I’m not tired”.
“It’s still light out”.
“It’s ok”, she would say. “Just close your eyes and rest a little while. Just resting is as good for you as sleep.”
I closed my eyes against the light, the square of light above my bed, to rest a little, a little rest before trying again another bid to keep playing in the light of evening, shutting out the light that I knew was still there, pulling down the curtains of my eyes to rest.
and wake to a new light
a new day, a new day of play and light and birds and trees and grass
a new light of day