I settle under my favorite quilt with the steady whir of the ceiling fan. Late afternoon light filters through a panel of cotton, casting shadows that dance as the blades slowly spin. Frida purrs from under the covers, rhythmic trills and tiny rumbles —white noise that softens the noise in my mind. My body becomes weighted, so do my eyes. From the periphery, I capture a glimpse of sunflowers before dozing off to dream of more.