NIGHT TRACKS

Awakened by a small boy's sleepy gait,
complaining of a tickle in his tummy-
frightened by the wind whacking windows,
beating rain, the restless
wanderings of the unseen.
The walls come to life…
the gnarly hands of shadow trees
move deftly across the room
weaving the atmosphere
into patterns unfamiliar.
I coax him back to bed and try
to ease myself back into sleep.
The clock ticks and the bells toll
and hours pass, creeping
for my listening soul, alert
to the echoes, to the sound
of footprints crossing the room.

Repeatedly, I approach the edge,
prepare for the plunge into the pool of sleep
and repeatedly I'm shaken, brought to…
I'm awakened by the sound
of footprints crossing the room
but nobody is there.
Someone is here.
I feel mystery beginning to bloom…
heightened senses aware of a presence
refuse to be coaxed back to sleep.
I have to sit up to see for myself
that there is no one crossing the room.

The rain stops…morning comes
like an early dawn snow
and the night tracks disappear,
leave no trace of where they go
or from whence they came
on the beating wings of wind
to the drumming rhythm of the rain.