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It’s not even two in the morning here and my eyelids are getting heavy, I’m getting very sleepy, and there isn’t even a watch dangling in front of my face. Guess I’m getting old, or drunk. After all I am sitting on the patio, drinking wine spritzers, reading a book I’m about to review, and working on my blog. Told you I was into multi-tasking.

It’s one of those wonderful nights. Not too cool, not too hot. Just right for backyard lounging. When I had a hammock, I would sleep outside sometimes. Especially in the day time. I work at night and sleep during the day time. Keeping to a semi-routine schedule I stay up at night on my nights off and sleep during the day. Except nights like tonight, when the weather is just right, for napping in the yard.

A cool soothing breeze flutters through my pseudo-jungle yard lulling me to sleep with a leaf twittering, tree frog, humming lullaby. Reminds me of growing up on a farm in Tennessee. Back then I loved sleeping outside. Day or night.

We went camping a lot when I was a kid. A girl scout from kindergarten to teens primmed me to be a great outdoors woman. But a fair Irish complexion and natural laziness keeps me inside when the suns out.

Let’s face it, I’m not a day walker. I’m a night person. A night stalker. A night worker. A night owl.

So sleep at two in the morning is a rare thing for me. Not exactly what I want to do with my night off. I’d rather sit here listening to the crickets and frogs.

I can’t see a star to gaze, or wish, upon. There’s a hint of rain in the air. I can almost smell it. Like the Mississippi river during a dry summer. That dusty wet smell that I can actually taste. It’s a sweet fragrance that the citronella torches can’t repel.

There.

That’s it. An explanation for my sudden onslaught of drowsiness. The sounds, smells, and taste of home. Of childhood. Of the river. Of Tennessee. Like a dream world created especially for me.

Time to say goodnight . . .