Three children tend to scupper all selfish ideas like that.
But there is a moment, soon after my head hits the pillow, when I think I am at peace. My mind drifts, worries of the day dissipate, tomorrows to-do list melts away. But I don't have any photos of myself sleeping.
Instead I have the next best thing.
Summer breathing through tall grass.
Autumn winds nudging and tussling clouds into whipped up frothy piles over the sea.
Piles of paperbacks with words nestling amongst the pages to transport me to another place.
So in an ideal world, I would be sitting on a beach with grasses on the dunes behind me, in late summer, reading a book. And probably no children of mine within earshot.
I may even nod off.
Where do you find peace?
Written for The Gallery.
