Midnight

It's midnight and I can't sleep.

I sit at my desk and try to work but nothing seems to stick.

What shall I do with this time? 
What will I use to occupy myself?

The rain falls continuously and the sound is beautiful to my ears.
Not too heavy and not too light. 
The perfect mix to make for a dreamy night.

I picture the dark clouds angry as the lightening bursts forth.

The thunder answers in response, rumbling in his deep strong voice asking the lightening to be still.

It's such a beautiful night,
Maybe that's the reason I can't sleep.

Another week is gone and forty eight hours of freedom lies ahead of me and I can do that which I please.

No work, no poring over papers, absolutely nothing. Just books, writing and reading and that's all I need.

Who shall I read today? Who shall I read before Sunday even draws to an end and Monday begins to rear its o so ugly head?

Shall I read someone on Medium or shall I dive back into Servant of the Bones by Anne Rice.

Sigh! There's so much to read and so little time to do it. Yet all I can think of is the sound of the rain on the roof.

I imagine the rain washing away the dirt. I don't picture erosion or flood.

Lord no!

I picture a beautiful rain that will leave the ground on which it passes cleaner than ever before, washing away the grime and dirt.

It's midnight and I can't sleep.

Who will sing me a lullaby to put my poor head at ease?