Patience

When my eyes grew too heavy, I listened.

My contact with the stone made a tiny scraping sound whenever I shifted weight. Small brush and greenery rustled beyond the confines of the climbing road. Above my head what once felt like a claustrophobic cloud began to open with the rush of wind. A forming shape occupied my inner eye, and I allowed it to blossom across my physical awareness like watercolor over wet paper.

There were birds, almost silent but for their flitting wings. My breathing steadied and entered into the rhythm of the wind. My heartbeat calmed until I no longer felt its anxious pulse in my temples and wrists. There was a high sound, so distant I thought I imagined it, like a flute.

Though the rest was peaceful, my skin was clammy and the stone leeched warmth from my legs. The world rocked like the deck of the ship that brought me to this land. At these heights the air ran thin and did not fulfill my lungs.

I held doubt at bay, pushed back against fear, yet sleep finally overcame me.