It was a dark and stormy night…

Storms don’t bother him any more.
The rumble and tumble of distant thunder
brings a modest smile to his face,
and one could guess, from his inward look, its peculiar comfort.

In his mind are the blankets of his childhood bed.
Dirty grey and dark inside,
but soft and safe.
Safe with his own private sun.

Muting giants’ voices
perhaps until the morning.

Always there to hide his fearful tears.

1 Comment

  1. gizzylaw says:

    I love this. My daughter had such a blanket. Now I weave them for babies. They are such comfort.

    Liked by 1 person

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