We loved to play hide and seek – we loved the game of it, the simple joy and thrill of it.
Daffodil breeze and muggy heat we’d stop to play – the count to 60 and hide of it. We lived small but big with it. When the world sighed, and grumbled, we’d stop – anywhere, anytime to play our game.
As the night drew close and the snow grew high, in candlelight we’d take our turns. 1, 2, skip a few, I’m coming for you – smiles and laughter filled our bones, brimmed our breath.
Seasons rolled, ebbed, and yawed, but the fun of it – never wavered, never thawed.
One hazy night, the fog rolled in. The twinkle sky was marred. The day was short, our moods felt shorter, so we played our game.
My turn first and I, to hide – a bulging behind the curtains. She skipped and danced as she sought me out, giggling with the love of it. I heard her march and stomp about, then curiously – the television turned on. I peeked out from the curtain and saw it sitting there, untouched – the remote sat still.
I wondered what curious tricks my love had played, but quickly hid back as I heard her steps.
Seconds passed, then the curtain whipped – she jumped on me with kiss and cuddle.
The winters gale blew as the pipes creaked and groaned – the little house felt under siege. Three more rounds, with each the whistling of the wind grew louder – like voices reigning down from all around us.
My turn to count, unnerved I climbed the stairs – I faced the window with my back to the room 1, 2, skip a few I uttered, then turned. I looked around and reeled at the sounds of the room, whispered pleas of sorrow around me – the wind blowing through every crack and crevice.
But I smiled, I see her, through a crack in the wardrobe – the twitch of movement – her laugh from downstairs.