Get some sleep out there.
Sources close to the White House say Mr Obama and his staff have been "overwhelmed" by the economic meltdown and have voiced concerns that the new president is not getting enough rest.
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Get some sleep, those who have lost their jobs. Those who worry they will. Get some sleep, those who are alone. Those who feel they're holding up a tiny corner of the world for a family or a friend.
There is a forest of hardwood where the canopy filters the sun for food and casts a green, deep faded light to the ferns below and the moss is soft. It smells sweet, of sassafras roots and wintergreen. From the spongy marsh a scent of mint and the hum of dragonfly wings. The breeze is still and warm and the rare sound is a distant, rhythmic persistence of a woodpecker sending echoes through the woodland valley.
There is a fish just below the surface, thin and sleek and green dusting the sand with its tail for a nest of eggs. Cloud shadows fade through and past. A blue sky reflects in the ripples.
Sleep.
No more work can be done.
The earth is a rock of iron and nickel, heavy and floating and spinning. The red wing blackbird trills its metallic zinc mating call in the cat tails and reeds. Facing away from the sun tree frogs trill back, high and constant. Always the sense of spring. The mist. Ever rising warmth from cold and always soothing. It never stops. Winter. Spring. Summer. Fall. A crock of stew will wait for you and welcome you home.
Sleep.
Worry only serves worry.
Blazing stars above and in the dark cornfield below an endless sea of fireflies. Wide and dark skylined a thunderstorm pulses in the distance. The rain will tick and plot on a window pane. The musky, sweet scent of earth will fill your senses while the white noise of thunder takes what it wants.