Poem – Wolves at the Door

Wolves at the Door©

As I peered out of my cabin window
In the middle of no where
On a brisk Sunday morning,
I missed, by mere seconds
An uninvited guest.
The evidence of his existence
Were the tracks leading to a nearby wooded clearing.
And remnants of his breath hung in the air like a Christmas ornament.
The tracks were closer than last time he visited.
I stepped outside wearily knowing he was watching.
Hoping he would lose interest in the foreseeable future.
I sipped my tea.
Enjoying the unsettling stillness of the country side that
contradicted the emotional roller coaster within me.
I remembered that this place had always been my sanctuary and always would be.
I turned to the door to seek refuge from the sudden biting wind and caught a glimpse of his calling card.
Fresh claw marks, carved like fine intricate detailing on a piece of mahogany furniture, on my door.
I looked back in acknowledgment.
Knowing the next time I might not be so lucky.
Rhonda Laurel


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