Rain patters percussively on the tent roof as I slowly wake inside. I’m getting soft in my old age, finding it hard to sleep on the ground these days: body sore, aching in the back, the hip, the shoulder, the arm – wherever, it seems, I had contact with the ground. Soft.
I think I would like something softer to sleep on, and then I wonder whether maybe it is my hardness that is part of the problem. I am bony, thin, and do not merge well with the contours of the earth. My density is higher than average too, as I don’t have any fat to spread me out, so maybe my points press harder against the ground too. Larger people have a place of contact when they sleep; skinny people like me, we have a point of contact. Points poke.
Hardness is not giving; hardness is a sign of resistance. I think I would like to be irresistible. I think I would like to soften.