My Window

The wind howled as crickets flooded the night with their subtle ambiance. Soft flickers of light danced throughout the fields and outside my window the faintest sound reassuringly peered through. I could make out the tree with its dark withered leaves rustling gently in the wind. I could make out a figure silent and still as though made of stone. The moon gave off a dim subdue of light, only enough to blanket the shadows and reveal the silhouette in all its darkness staring at me. I couldn’t help but stare back in hopes that the figure would move so that I might see it’s artfulness hunt in mid flight. Night after night I would find it outside of my window perched on the same branch calling out to me, never having been anywhere else, then vanishing with the early light of each day. Leaving me once again restless and intrigued.