The Watcher (cont.)



Like a candle in a Christmas window, the one room left lit feels magical.  Directly across from me and behind the bright flame, I see a solitary figure standing by the patio doors.  It’s far too cold to be outside, I know, because I catch a glimpse of the unmistakable wisp of an air leak escaping my heat vent.  I wonder if he’s a smoker, missing his warm freedom.  I wonder if he sees me.  He moves and something flashes.  I see him take one look back towards the window, then blow out the candle and disappear.  Mysterious, I think.  Not because of his actions, but more so that someone still lights candles as their choice of room illumination.  I have not seen him before, but I feel sure I’ll see him again.


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