Wednesday, June 19, 2013

It is dark out.

It's dark out. It would have been quiet if not for the occasional car passing by the road across the lake outside and the small cricket complaining of his loneliness. Inside by the window, sheltered from the dark, she was sitting on the coach reading in the little light the lamp beside her offered. The night has barely began, two pages into her book, her mind was wandering off to the fixations of her day. There were too much to think about, to worry for, to accomplish and the pages of her book were loosing the fight. She closes her eyes as I listen for  any noise,  the closing of a door very quietly perhaps. His fingers reaching for my hand. The room is silent,  no sound from the road, or the lake or the cricket. The night has only begun.

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