There's something out there that watches.
Things that hide in the shadows and scuttle under the damp leaves.
I catch careful glimpses in the corners of my eyes.
And they breath in the darkness, as if they turn to stone in the light.
I know they are there waiting, watching, with sightless eyes.
They carry a feeling as uneasy as it is wondrous.
I want to reach out to one, but fear that I will turn to ashes if I do.
But I am drawn to them, as they are drawn to me.
I stare back when they peer through my long glass windows from the edge of the woods.
They don't leave the woods.
But on many occasion I have ventured into the darkness, without so much as a lantern to light my way, and stood at the end of my garden, barefoot, staring, almost in a trance.
Just a few feet away
Me, standing at the edge of a stone pathway, staring face to face with death.