Hallowed ground

I hear darkness loitering on my front step. The scuttling of leaves down a dim breezeway. I feel its exacting eyes peering in through the cracks in my drapes. My contentedness dampened slightly by its looming presence. The hairs on my arm stand up. It’s near, and it’s waiting for an opportunity of vulnerability to let itself in.

But what goes on inside my hallowed walls is my business. Let it lurch around the property like an unwanted guest. Let it rattle my windows and tear against my doors. Let it lay in wait. On the day that darkness shall be invited into my home, the seas will boil and the clouds will fall to Earth. On the day that darkness lays claim to my grounds, my warm blood shall cool and the wind will die. 

I feel darkness always, inserting itself into the foreground of my cherished memories. I’ve come to look for it, seeking out its presence when the buds of May are too fair, the spoils of Autumn too swell. I know it’s around here somewhere, I know it won’t be far behind. But darkness shall never overtake me. On these cool, fall evenings when my dreams bud as the leaves dry out. As little parts of the world shimmer in unison like undulating waves. I know that darkness loiters yet, but I find myself far too preoccupied to mind its spiny traps.

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