Solitude

The old street lamps have lent a glow to foggy mists engulfing them the ground is wet with dots of color from each fallen leaf and stem This autumn night as I stroll past these nineteenth century homes of old like ghosts that dimly show themselves their silent presence leaves you cold My footsteps break the eerie quiet through the puddles left by rain the only other sign of life the distant sounding of a train This is my favorite time to walk so late at night when all is still free to think without disturbance unencumbered in my will The late October crispness of the cool damp air is oh so sweet with smokey smell of fires lit from chimneys up and down the street Without distractions in the night content in being on my own there's peacefulness in solitude I much prefer to walk alone