I’m lying on the grass with my eyes closed, belly up, covered by a blanket of sunshine. A soft breeze carries birdsong and swirls it around me. Even though I can’t see, I know that next to me, a cat stretches. His eyes are closed, belly up- a feline mirror image of myself. It purrs softly as it breathes, and I breathe.
I do not want to leave, but I know it’s time. When I open my eyes, I am no longer lying down, but sitting on the bed. There is no sunshine, only the artificial, yellowish glow of a desk lamp. I don’t hear birds singing anymore, only my baby crying. Instead of a purring cat, a man snores next to me.
There’s so much to do- get a bottle, warm up the milk, hold the baby, don’t fall asleep. But I know I can do it, because I was just in my father’s garden; and if I need to, I can go there again. I recall the sunshine, and the birdsong, and the cat, and I stand up.
Michelle Sanchez Rivera is a Mexican author living in Edinburgh, Scotland.
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