I have seen things today, in the flickering shadows of dusk; in the cast-askew glance into the middle distance. The first, as I approached our home, a tiny black bird, or perhaps a bat, darting over me, just past my right ear. When I looked back, there was no bird, nor bat, nor butterfly. A trick of the light, perhaps. Or a mysterious flickering thing.
The next I saw as I walked past the window. A flash of white; a ghostly figure gliding out of view just outside. Steam, maybe, or someone outside looking in, someone from some other time, some other where, peeking in my windows, wondering who I am, and why my spectral image is wandering past the window, trespassing so close to their place, and without so much as a tiny piece of bread dipped in honey.
There are others, of course. The sigh of starched cotton, a disembodied giggle. Sometimes, things that go missing turn up again in odd places. Why, for instance, would I have put my car keys on top of the door frame? I wouldn't, of course, because I can't even reach the top of the door frame. His Nibs could, but he's such a terrible liar.
The next I saw as I walked past the window. A flash of white; a ghostly figure gliding out of view just outside. Steam, maybe, or someone outside looking in, someone from some other time, some other where, peeking in my windows, wondering who I am, and why my spectral image is wandering past the window, trespassing so close to their place, and without so much as a tiny piece of bread dipped in honey.
There are others, of course. The sigh of starched cotton, a disembodied giggle. Sometimes, things that go missing turn up again in odd places. Why, for instance, would I have put my car keys on top of the door frame? I wouldn't, of course, because I can't even reach the top of the door frame. His Nibs could, but he's such a terrible liar.
