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On one of the blogs that I like to read, Jack's Shack, Jack posts snippets of fiction-in-progress. So I decided this morning to take his example and post a poem that I started to write last night -- ahem, I mean this morning at about 12:10. But I had to stop because I was literally falling asleep at the wheel -- keyboard -- as I was typing. So here, for your reading pleasure, is the start of "The Face in the Window."
The Face in the Window
It is midnight, and I am doing a final walkabout in the house.
Picking up forgotten books, straightening sofa pillows, securing the dog for the night.
I look in on my dear children, fast asleep in their beds,
a sliver of moon peering down upon them through a crack between window and window shade,
a crease of light
haloing the heads
of these little treasures as they sigh in their sleep.
I lock the front door, then glance out the beveled side window at the snow beyond.
The yellowish light in front of the house casts a warm glow, beckoning me out of doors.
But I cannot wander out, although it might be nice to pirouette on the front lawn amidst the white down feather blanket of snow.
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