Beware of Apnoea
The mist was thick within the trees, swirling, almost vibrating with a kind of expectancy. The breeze shifting its white-grey mass with subtle movements breaking the density here and there. The sounds, the seductive tunes, beguiling, beckoning. The wind increasing with a rushing that lifted leaves into spirals of dancing colour . The fog rising to combine with the twisting whirlwinds. Approaching her, then hovering, but suddenly, with a moaning sigh, rushing back the way it had come. The boundary forming, th e line that was indelibly woven into the fabric of time, the exact point of transition, the change from night to day . A fleeting moment when the dead have to retreat and the living begin the slow process of transformation into wakefulness.