Tip-tap the mist

Sheds droplets

Wetting the streets

And the trees outside.

A cold wind blows

Hard, rocking trees and

Buildings to their bases.

An occasional car-horn

Blares through the night,

Calling out to its fellows

Across the dark distance.

Alone in the house,

I hear the squeaking of

Mice among the rafters

And the pitter-patter

Of tiny, busy feet.

A door creaks somewhere,

Moved by the wind.

Amidst all this,

I listen, rapt,

For the sound

Of your footsteps

Walking across the garden

And in at the door. Then

Mounting the stairs

And into the room

Where I sit, waiting,

Finally coming to a halt

Right behind me.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s