Piled under blankets, wrapped around a mug of tea, watching the pearly grey light strain against my kitchen windows. Watching the plants in the kitchen strain starving towards the light.
If I close my eyes, I can see Cali, the impossibly tall Palms arched across the radiant sky. A softer winter sky, without the scrubbing summer dust. The magenta bougainvillea leaves trailing in the pool, lazy lounging hearts. Thick date clusters hanging over the garden wall and the oleander in the corners, around the rocks where the lizards sun themselves. I can see Cali, but I can't smell it. This house just smells cold, plaster and snow, and the cigarette smoke in my hair from the night before.
Bears would take one breath and know it was still time to sleep, curled up under piles of leaves and layers of fat and fur. Bears would wait for spring to wake them. Why are humans so intent on staying the same all year round? If I could sleep with the season, I'd be far less grumpy. I would dream of Cali and Mexico, and the hot basking sun of Rome. I would taste the desert sun in my sleep and wake up hungry for summer.
I wonder what bears dream? Probably honey.
I would dream of honey too. Sweet sticky ribbons of sunlight, and the summer hum of a billion bees.
Bees also sleep in the cold. They also know. And who can even guess what bees dream? Bougainvillea and Star Jasmine and Purple Clover and bears.
And I dream of bears and bees chasing me. Laughing.
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