First, the soft sound
of stocking-footed steps,
barely a breath on
the concrete. A whisper,
a slight change in the quality
of light raining down
through windows opened
wide to capture even
the shyest rays of sunlight.
Like a gentle nudge—no, less—
a mellow pressing against
my side, friendly as
the family dog, but unknown,
unfamiliar until now.
Ears trained on the non-silence,
straining to hear vague rustlings,
I look up from my knitting,
blink as if shaken awake from
a long, dreaming doze, alert
to the stirred air, the charged
atmosphere, and welcome my new
guests, inviting them to sit
on my velvet sofa, offering
a fresh pot of tea. Sustenance,
because the day is young,
and we have work to do.
(c) 2017, by Hannah Six
Image: Simon Q
No comments:
Post a Comment