Spirits

The spirits here haunt my home,

like birds flying in the winter’s darkness,

even in the bitter cold and wind

fiercely raging that would drive us inside,

except we have work to do, things that take us

out into the cold, out into the darkness,

disturbing them, disturbing us. These spirits,

flushed out, rise up and take flight,

the flutter of their wings beating barely

perceptible as they fight our presence, seeking

escape and the solace found in the solitude

of darkness, a darkness we fear as much

as the solitude it bears; yet maybe

we too seek that same solace, venturing out

under the cover of darkness hiding us,

searching for something, perhaps for ourselves,

lost in our fears, haunted and afraid.