at night, i find things to do that keep my thoughts bustling and distracted and  far from sleep. I google, make shopping lists, organize the silverware, design a mother-in-law suite remodel for the basement.  It’s never more than 6 minutes, I’m told, from my head hitting the pillow to the jerkey little hand, arm, head movements that dance me into sleep.  But here is another one of those things that we’re sure would make others hate us (smug is good):  beneath the alternative down comforter with a 90 lb monster aligned snuggly against me, spine to spine, i reach for you and roll to the place you would be if you were here and not there with two little love muffins negotiating the nooks and crannies of your heat-pumping body, conforming to the curves and angles and gentle slopes my heat-seeking hands would otherwise be exploring.

For six minutes i stumble down the gravelly path toward sleep, with every exhale bringing me a breath closer to morning and breaking light and the expectation and anticipation of another day spent thinking about coming home to you.