I am dreaming, my time clock is out​ of whack! I awake in the middle of the night from dreams of myopic turmoil. I roll over on my side pull my knees up and lie there a while then finally I roll over throw the covers off, reach for the light cord in the dark, find it and turn on the blinding light. I am sweaty, the room is hot and I haven’t adjusted to the sounds of the city so I have the window closed. Standing I and go to the window and open it. Looking out I see a rainy Paris, Another rainy day I left Seattle in a driving rain storm the last three months were soggy there, only to arrive in Paris, the city of light, which is now dark and raining as well. As I lean out a whining motor scooter splashes down the Rue de Luxembourg. Its driver a smallish looking dark presence leaning into the wind and weather, wet. I avoid my phone and its clock I go over to the wall by the door and turn down the heat.

As I turn I look at my ever so charming room  The bath is all grey white marble, the walls are covered in paintings and the ceiling beams are old old old, full of worm holes and charm. I go round the bed and climb in and shut the light, lie down on my side pull my knees up and tell my self the time in Seattle is one in the afternoon and I am wide awake. I roll one way  then the other and think I am asleep and then I don’t know and then I am awake drink some water then back at it convincing myself I am going to sleep. I itch here I itch there, maddening. Next when I am really sleeping soundly I hear the maid rapping lightly on the door and from a dream of waves and roaring I shout out, “thank you” and roll over to go back to sleep. It seems as though I get to really sleeping for a moment the maids want to freshen up the room. Once again she raps, once again I shout and close my eyes. I didn’t put out the do not disturb sign last night.  Again rapping, OK I shout through the carved wooden door and a voice quiet and respectful comes back through the oak door,  a soft mellifluous voice calls “It’s me your son Nevis.”