I have awakened from the strangest and most frightening nightmares imaginable.
Or had I been awake all along, my imagination once again off at an unstoppable gallop, an All Hallows Eve wild ride into the yet undiscovered caverns of a sickened mind morbidly inhabiting a body in advanced stages of decay? [earlier I had been tasting of a musical smorgasbord which offered to my indiscriminate palette an out-of-season dollop of screeching but captivating Halloween music]. Strange dreams of friends redrawn as angry, animated cartoon characters, my lugging a double bed mattress up to a trashed hotel room, a treasure trove of books ablaze at the hand of an insane antagonist in the manner of Fahrenheit 451 and the smell of kerosene (can a dreamer smell?).
I have awakened again - how can this be?
Pain wracks my freezing body, my legs at broken angles one to the other and higher than my cracked head. As I come to and to the realization that I am outside the comfort of my warm and embracing bed, I gather that I am fortunate to have awakened at all: I am at the bottom of the stairway leading from deck to drive, crumpled in an ungainly and disgraced heap. It would seem - as I am now in the capacity to recollect my earlier move to exit the studio to view better the new moon - I had slipped down the icy wooden stairs and spent heaven knows how long on the asphalt.
If I have not broken anything I will struggle to crawl back up the stairs, lick my wounds once inside my home's relative safety and security, and refrain henceforth from attempting to view straight on the moon's beautiful face.
Her exquisite shining light alone - pouring so alluringly through my gently illumined window - will have to suffice for this adventurer.