Barn and Hay Lullaby
by Amorette

The barn is warm and smells of animals and hay. An old friend offered us its shelter when we passed by, his house full with his large family including, he warned us, a new baby with a touch of the colic. Iolaus and I gladly accepted his offer, especially since the skies were threatening rain.

It was pleasant evening, sitting around the table with our friend and his family, Iolaus entertaining the older children with his wild stories while I spent the time bouncing younger children on my knees. Then we retired to the barn, full of good food and the warmth that comes from a happy home.

I'm lying in the hay, wrapped in a blanket, listening both to the first drops of rain as they start to fall and the familiar sound of my companion as he gets ready to sleep.

Iolaus reminds me of a cat or dog when he gets ready to sleep. He turns and rolls over several times, often muttering to himself about how hard the ground is or how cold or hot the night. I used to answer him when he asked which god was in charge of rocks but I've long since learned the conversation is not directed towards anyone but himself.

I wait and I hear him settle. I can picture him, squirming a little to burrow a nest for himself in the hay, pulling his borrowed blanket up over his bare shoulders. I know exactly how Iolaus looks as he falls asleep and how he'll look when he awakes, straw in his hair.

If he is in a bed, especially after an energetic night, he tends to sleep sprawled on his stomach. We don't get to sleep in beds much so he usually ends up curled up on his side. I glance over. I think I'm looking at the back of his head but in the dark, with the blanket pulled up, I'm not sure.

Now I wait. The muttering fades. Sometimes he has another nighttime ritual to help him sleep but he was yawning as we walked from the house so I think he'll skip that tonight.

A cow snorts and stomps one foot in the stall beside us. Our friend turned the horses out and the goats are in a far pasture so, besides us, the cow, some mice and a few barn cats are the only occupants of our shelter. I hear a little rustling in the loft above us but I know it's nothing but those cats.

A few minutes pass. Iolaus rarely suffers from insomnia. He long ago trained himself to fall sleep quickly and wake instantly, alert to his surroundings. He doesn't like to get up in the morning but he is always ready if something untoward disturbs his sleep.

Now it comes, that soft sigh. I don't even know if Iolaus is conscious that he makes it, a tiny, high-pitched sound, that reminds me of a sleeping child, not man grown. He always sighs as he falls asleep. I know once I hear that sound, he is asleep, and if I don't hear it, he is feigning sleep for some reason.

I hear the sigh and raise my head a little. He has his back towards me, I'm sure of it. I can hear his slow, regular breathing. Iolaus rarely snores, unless he is lying on his back and either drunk or has a cold. I doubt anyone but someone as attuned to Iolaus as I am, with my acute hearing, could hear those soft breaths.

That's what I wait for. I have found it very difficult, over the years, to fall asleep unless I hear Iolaus breathing quietly beside me. When we're apart, for whatever reason, I often lie awake, counting the stars or worrying over useless things. But when we're together, I roll over, tuck the blanket around my shoulders and fall asleep to the lullaby of Iolaus' breathing.

February 2002