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, the 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. Suddenly waking Joan was struggling to breath. She was panting, gasping for breath, her mind full of visions, a collection of moments, individual but nonetheless connected. The dream vivid in her mind. This was becoming an al