dusk nr the golden hour always pays you a short visit that you wish was longer 220707 ... ovenbird I woke in the night to dark so complete I believed I was blind. I had absolutely no idea where I was. I was in total darkness but beyond that no knowledge of place would come to my mind. I didn't know my coordinates on the globe. I could not bring the location of the walls into consciousness. I couldn't even suss out the dimensions of my bed. Whatever internal compass orients me in space was spinning madly and I struggled to get my feet onto the floor. I murmured "what?" and that word was all I could bring to my lips to express my distressed perplexity. My eyes finally found a tiny crack of light and I stumbled towards it. My hands found the fabric of drapes and I pulled them aside revealing the world outside--gravel parking lot, my own car, pine trees and reality snapped back into a shape I recognized. A few days ago A came to my door to request help fixing... something... dementia stole the word from him. He stood on my doorstep fighting to bring language back. "It's...it's... The electronic box thing for my bass," he finally said. I could see the distress on his face, the terror at not being able to recall such a small and simple word. "Amp," I provided. "Yes, amp," he said, grateful but humiliated. The darkness I lost myself in on the edge of sleep receded in minutes and I was given back the gift of my full awareness. But for A the darkness only deepens. He adapts continuously to the gathering gloam but there will come a day when his mind can no longer adapt. The dark will close in and he will wander without a map. I can't push back the encroaching night but I can be a benevolent presence--a soft voice, a hand to hold, a keeper of stories, a reminder that those who love him will take up the task of remembering who he is when that knowledge is sunk too deep for him to reach. I hope that someone will do the same when dusk finds me. 250709 what's it to you? who go blather from