Somewhere between waking and sleeping on our journey towards the unfathomable deep, there comes a thin moment where we have one foot in the waking world and the other in that other world where we relinquish conscious control.
Pausing here and straddled between two planets that drive one another like gears, the attentive traveler will notice a narrow door only wide enough to slide through.
This is the border of sleep, where imagination and reality are braided together, a chasm in the crust of consciousness, venting the hot pumice of imagery into the irresistible magma of narrative.
Welcome to episode 37 of Stories from the Borders of Sleep, back after a long hiatus and hopefully becoming more regular through 2018.
This is a podcast of curious tales from bordersofsleep.com it features original stories by your host, Seymour Jacklin.
You can visit bordersofsleep.com for more information or to leave some feedback.
And we have a Facebook group as well.
Artwork by Robin Trainor, production is by Tim Wiles, and the soundtrack for this week's episode is from the Paul Whiteman Orchestra, some very old recordings, and Elizabeth Welch.
This podcast is also available on itunes, so if you're ready to journey with me, then I shall begin Poor Butterfly by Seymour Jacklin Tearing down the dotted line that's how Effie described Griselda's driving.
But that's not just how she drove.
She always wanted a foot either side of any line she could find.
Or here was a girl who walked on the cracks in the pavement, daring the bogeymen to bite her.
If there was a gap, she'd fill it between was Griselda's safe?
All this was there when Griselda remarked to Effie that she felt torn.
Effie watched one stockinged foot as she twirled it over the chair arm.
Looking at her ankle from different angles, she waited for Griselda to go on.
Usually she'd talk herself to where she needed to be, given a companionable silence and the odd understanding nod.
Elsie Baker's high throated tremolo emitted from the wireless, strangulated by the airwaves.
Poor butterfly.
Neath the blossoms waiting.