A sitting spell

 A cold and wet industrious day of tasks. A quiet, simple song for this evening to unwind to. I wonder where all the wandering angels will sleep tonight. Daydreaming and musing of another time and place. Maybe this is how nostalgia sets in, like a quiet, creeping fog that drifts in from years past. There still is a warmth deep inside that keeps the fire of remembered hope alive, a hot buried ember of mind pictures, brilliant sharding sunlight and tumbling smile faces that swirl like a carousel in my heart.

Melancholy, where have you been, my sometimes two times friend? Let's walk and talk for a while. My ears have been missing your footsteps and that soft, leathered grip of your familiar hand. Under the shroud of street lights and near quieted lanes let the whispered wind curl at the nape of our necks while we look and nod solemnly at each other with slow understanding. Those circles are a bit deeper under your eyes these days. That haunted look is fading now, like a winter bruise, but I can still see the glimmer of a solitary flame that looks aft miles away then flickers. You sure don't come around these parts much day when. I hope wherever you live most times you find yourself as welcome as here.

Spring is coming soon,  Ol' Mel. Don't get you too far. I will have need of thee.

 daemon