Tuesday, 4 November 2014

Pit and pat of the year.

What’s that noise?

Footsteps on the gravel path? But it’s past midnight, no one comes down the path at midnight.

A deer?

He stands by the window and peers behind the curtain, but it is too dark to see anything so he steps into his slippers and shuffles to the front door and steps outside.

There are no stars.

He looks up trying to see the clouds and something touches his cheek.

The touch is soft, like a lovers finger tip.

It hasn’t rained for two months.

The ground cries out for her.

His cheek too.

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