Heart of the Evening

Sitting silently I watch
the fog drift by my window
and hear the surf pounding onshore.
It’s a night for gazing into the fire
and idling the time away.
My book, face down on the table,
tempting me not quite enough.
One of your favorite compositions
plays softly in the background
and suddenly I hear you.
Your steps upon the sand are hesitant
and as faint as a bird’s breath
but heard and recognized.
Through the haze
I see you pause,
gaze towards my window,
hesitate, and then disappear.
Hastening to call you back
I find no footprints
in the soft cold sand.

© Marcia Miller-Twiford