Somnolent Summers

I believe in taking naps. I believe in long languorous sleeps. In the deepness of summer, when I wake up feeling stale and sweaty and dehydrated, I know my greatest peace. Sometimes I doze off on the porch in a familiar chair, sometimes in the sand with the little waves of a lake glazing over my toes, sometimes in the grass with the boy I love, or in a hammock with my best friend in the middle of the night. On very lucky days, I fall asleep surrounded by dandelions, my mind wonderfully muffled with wine. The ground is cool and the air is hot, and the vast sky is clearer than i have ever seen. The clouds move slow, and lull me to sleep. 

Often, I nap in my beloved red subaru on the side of the road. I wake up with a pinch in my temple, suffocated by my own breath with the deep, low sun piercing my eyes. But as the door opens, I gulp that first heap of fresh air, remember the function of my own legs and rediscover freedom. And simplicity. I drive home with all four windows squeezed inside all four doors, letting Vermont air and dirt twist and turn about the layers of my clothes and hair. I think about my dreams – when I nap I remember. When I nap my dreams laugh; they enjoy their time inside my head. They bring me clarity, and perspective. The day slows down, summer slows down, and the things I love stay in one place. Life’s finality melts away because the world is silent and patient, and so I nap.