The lovely aerodynamics of illness

I have been sick for a few days. Today the sore throat is better; my eyes are puffy and sweaty. It hurts to cough. Tired. I’m on the daybed with a book and acrostic puzzles, surrounded by jalousie windows and the open door. It is warm and sunny. The sweetest breezes come quietly in. I feel the aerodynamics of my shape as they swirl slowly over and around me. I nod in and out of sleep, dreaming in short vignettes. My mother, dead eight years now, comes in from the kitchen, sees that I am sleeping, and goes away again without speaking.