Interlude

I get up in the middle of the night, most nights, to go to the bathroom. A habit of middle age, I am certain, but I find myself enjoying it, savoring the moment each night. I awake with scraps of dreams in my head. Get out from under the covers. The soft hardwood of the bedroom under my feet shifts to the heavy pile of the hallway carpet, then the cold tile of the bathroom. As I pee my dreams are already disappearing, like fine sand sifting through the gaps between my fingers. I finish, pad back, tile to carpet to hardwood, walking between worlds, between dreams and waking life. I crawl back under the blankets, chilled by the night air. I press myself against the warmth of my wife's back, relax, return to sleep. The alarm rings and I awake from dreams, only to give myself to them once again at the end of the day.