I Pray I'm Not Awake

And then she was somewhere else entirely. A field somewhere impossible, almost as if it were floating on a cloud. The sun was setting on one side and rising on the other in an impossible display of beauty that made the shadows stretch long in warm golden tones, the shadows a brilliant purple. Though Frey couldn't be seen, they were there. They were everything. Warmth wrapped around the midwife like a weighted blanket, sinking into the shallow places in her now empty womb and filling her lungs with purpose and life. It happens. A voice said. Frey's voice, echoing from everywhere all at once, but not loudly. No louder than a sigh. It is nature's way of testing. Of seeing if the environment is ready. You are a midwife, you know this. Matter of fact. Studious. Casual. But your emotions cloud that knowledge. Your hormones have no got the memo yet my little lemondrop, and so your heart hurts. Love complicates things too, I suppose. The world around Phoebe seemed to shrug. You can rest here as long as you like. Frey

Table image by Beth Myer!