At Old Souls Shack
twilight descends.
It is quieter
after the ghosts
are gone.
The lightness
of darkness
takes their places.
Birds sing quieter
as well.
I softly imagine myself
far north of here
drinking wine
and reading poetry
to an older
younger woman.
She is wiser than I
but owns a gentleness
that belies her wisdom.
She makes up her world
and then inhabits it.
She is simply herself
which is a great deal.
She soothes me.
Sometimes I am lucky
and get to visit.
Twilight is uncertain,
so soft imaginings
are good friends
to have.

  ~mce