I am a bird, a dormouse, a nesting creature. My days are punctuated by its call; that tangle of sheets and softness that sings a siren song of slumber to me between every duty, job and joy.
I’m talking about my bed.
Only, it’s not proper to be in bed in the daylight hours; my Gramdmother would be aghast.
But it’s Simeon, this nesting urge; the great primates feel it too. They weave together branches and leaves high in the tree canopies, make hidden pockets for their young, for midday rest, for staying safe in the wilds of the night.
And I too, climb my way upwards to my nest, again & again; up three stories to the top of this old house, where my bed lies caught in the branches of the old beams, where my tiny chimp curls soft and warm around me, tugs at me all night long, nestled tight between feather & family. Where kittens tangle themselves in my hair, and the dog emits his tiny sleep barks, and twitches with rabbit-filled dreams.
Slumber’s seat, our very own nest, lined like a sparrow’s with all that is soft in nature: the downy feather on the breeze, the fluff from a thistle and a milkweed flower.
I’m staying in bed today. I suggest you do the same x