The Birch Trees Remembered First

Hi Sleepy. Tonight we wander into that strange little gap before a feeling has a name. A sound moves the air in your ear, a smell opens a basement door inside you, a birch tree in the wind becomes childhood, and suddenly the body has arrived long before the words come running after it, late and out of breath.

There are grannies, boomers, vowels and bowels, thunder at the kitchen table, a cemetery walk among birches, and one small blissling in a northern Swedish church that grows when it is gently noticed. This is an introspective and slightly ridiculous journey to sleep about feeling, memory, language, smell, the body, and all the things in us that never become sentences.

Drift off to sleep, Sleepy. It is what it is. What happens, happens. And right now, there is nothing we can do about it.

Sleep Tight!

More about Henrik, click here: https://linktr.ee/Henrikstahl

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