I slept till after nine this morning, and I don’t mean dozing, or lazing, or duvet diving. I mean sleeping.
This is the kind of sleep that drags you downwards into bliss, the sleep that triumphs over daybreak, obliterating awareness of the light. Plans made before bedtime are voided and cheerful greetings of the new day are postponed, sometimes indefinitely.
And I love it. I have always loved it. Throughout the teenage years, I especially loved it. During the child-rearing years, I longed for it with the yearning of the abandoned, in despair of ever again having and holding. Then the alarm-clock years, when weekend visitation rights were reinstated and hope was restored.
Now it’s back, fully pledged to me at last, bringing the precious gift of guilt-free slumber into the depth of winter mornings. Welcome home, my lifelong love.