TM#265... The insomniac..
Is it any wonder that I seldom sleep long enough to possibly dream at night?
Most nights are spent half awake wondering what I shall add to mine and Bilbo's story or sitting by the fireplace with a bottle of ink and a quill scratching notes down onto paper. So on those rare nights that I do have a dream I can not help but remember it. Especially when the memory of one still shakes me to the core.
I stood in the garden in the Shire. The grass growing about my feet, surely Sam would have trimmed it by now. Where was he? Usually he joins me on these late night walks when my insomnia keeps me awake. I don't know why tonight would be any different. Well someone must clip the grass. I picked up Sam's shears where the lay abandoned in the yard. How unlike Sam to just drop them. I kneeled down in the grass and started trimming. Where had all these rocks come from? I threw them over the hedge. How can I clip the grass, when I have to stop every couple of inches to throw rocks out of the garden too? I had not clipped very far when I paused. Then I heard a noise. Looking back over my shoulder I saw the grass behind me had already grew another foot. At this rate I was not going to catch up with it. I looked around again, a sudden chilled pain swept through me. There was someone watching me. I could feel it. "Sam, Is that you?" I asked the night. "Sam?" There was no response. The grass suddenly turned gray and started to wilt at my feet, "What the..?" I didn't want it to die. That isn't what I wanted; soon the entire yard turned this ghastly color and started to fade. No! Bilbo's beautiful garden was dying. A voice sounded. I looked up, a shadow appeared on the other side of the hedge. One of the Black Riders stood there peering at me through the night. He forced his way through the gray hedge and advanced, his arm stretch toward me..
It was then that I woke up covered and shaking in sweat. Sometimes you wake long enough to change the direction of a dream.. Last night it was all I could do to wake up to stop the dream as I tore the smothering blankets away from my body in an effort to get away from the shadow on the otherside of the hedgerow.
Is it any wonder that I seldom sleep long enough to possibly dream at night?
Most nights are spent half awake wondering what I shall add to mine and Bilbo's story or sitting by the fireplace with a bottle of ink and a quill scratching notes down onto paper. So on those rare nights that I do have a dream I can not help but remember it. Especially when the memory of one still shakes me to the core.
I stood in the garden in the Shire. The grass growing about my feet, surely Sam would have trimmed it by now. Where was he? Usually he joins me on these late night walks when my insomnia keeps me awake. I don't know why tonight would be any different. Well someone must clip the grass. I picked up Sam's shears where the lay abandoned in the yard. How unlike Sam to just drop them. I kneeled down in the grass and started trimming. Where had all these rocks come from? I threw them over the hedge. How can I clip the grass, when I have to stop every couple of inches to throw rocks out of the garden too? I had not clipped very far when I paused. Then I heard a noise. Looking back over my shoulder I saw the grass behind me had already grew another foot. At this rate I was not going to catch up with it. I looked around again, a sudden chilled pain swept through me. There was someone watching me. I could feel it. "Sam, Is that you?" I asked the night. "Sam?" There was no response. The grass suddenly turned gray and started to wilt at my feet, "What the..?" I didn't want it to die. That isn't what I wanted; soon the entire yard turned this ghastly color and started to fade. No! Bilbo's beautiful garden was dying. A voice sounded. I looked up, a shadow appeared on the other side of the hedge. One of the Black Riders stood there peering at me through the night. He forced his way through the gray hedge and advanced, his arm stretch toward me..
It was then that I woke up covered and shaking in sweat. Sometimes you wake long enough to change the direction of a dream.. Last night it was all I could do to wake up to stop the dream as I tore the smothering blankets away from my body in an effort to get away from the shadow on the otherside of the hedgerow.
Is it any wonder that I seldom sleep long enough to possibly dream at night?