Name That Gator

I must be doing better. Even though I am still inclined to afternoon naps from which I awaken convinced I still have an IV in my hand and side rails on my bed, small bits of grey matter are re-awakening. Part of this sleepiness is normal recovery from being sick and sleep deprived. It doesn't help that I have not had a cup of caffeinated anything for a week and half now either.

I dream of Carl Larsson paintings, which is a very pleasant thing, and consider the garden which is heavily shaded, leafed about with bushes and trees that need trimming. The temperature soars in the afternoon and I sit outside until I am warm through and through, then retreat once again to the cool interior to sip fluids and nap again.

This morning I awoke and knew the gator's name. The yet unnamed gator who slid into the oil smeared waters that are rapidly filling the Daisetta sinkhole. I could picture him in his private green swimming hole, and hoped that he was happily still splashing about.

I think his name must be "Slick."