Dusk

I saw him just after dark, walking up the street, a dark figure on thin bent legs. His slacks were black with a sharp crease and his brogues were shiny and black. I froze in the driveway, willing him not to see me. I should have known he'd be back.

My garden has kept him at bay for 10 years. I planted to the edge on all sides, as I know he does not prefer to cross the plants. Now I see that the driveway grants him a portal. Him with his dark suit. I didn't see his eyes, but I sense they are sharp and blue, cold and keen, observant.

Ten years ago, he came to me often in dreams, a shapeless darkness outside a small room encased in walnut paneling. I stood silently wishing him to go away. Once there was a telephone in the room and in a brave or desperate moment I picked up the receiver. A dark hand reached through a small window and grabbed it away.

I should have known he was coming. The latest issue of of Birds and Blooms remained for days on the kitchen counter, wrapped in its plastic mailing, despite the alluring bluebird on the cover. And when I spoke to a visitor this week, my unconscious remarked that gardens were boring, a shock to both of us.

This morning, I planted three Virginia bluebells along the stone path even though I knew it would make me late for work. I reasoned that rain was predicted for today. Perhaps I also remembered that he does not like to cross the plants