Because I climb a ladder to sleep,sometimes I feel it takes too long.On the bottom rung,I see the house, shadowed and cozy,dark and peaceful,already in another dream.On the second rung,I see the town, with each little housedrowning in blankets, and rarelyin silence, usually in snoring,with families sleeping despite it.But not me.

On the next rung, I see the country, amazed atso many peopledriving, walking, running, thinking, climbingladders to their own sleep.On the next rung,I see the world, and I realizeI’m not alone in my tired effortsto fall asleep, but mostly,I see that almost everyone issnuggling with teddy bears, pillows,blankets, spouses—anything soft they can grab.

I’m surprised at how fast they climbedtheir ladders.I reach for the next rung, but Iget a mattress instead.I pull myself up, tuck myself in, close my eyes,and feel my bed driftback to the world,back to the country,back to the little town where people sleep,back to the house,and finally to sleep.