through the open window shines the full moon bright.
a cool breeze, the hoot of an owl roosted in the tree
that creaks gently outside as if to remind you that it
is still alive - despite it's decrepit look otherwise.

upon a sofa worn to comfort sleeps a cat far past the
prime of their nine lives. a soft purr emitting from
soft fur. the cat has been sleeping in the moonlight,
here in this exact corner of velvet, for what could
have been a century. the clocks hadn't struck midnight
in longer than any of the inhabitents of the old
house in the wooded glen could bother remembering.

there was peace in the sigh of day through the old
walls, there was zen in bustle of night in the floors.

despite the lack of timekeeper residing in the great
old house, midnight had arrived and marked the end-
- or perhaps the beginning - of another day in which
everyone knew that almost anything could happen.

perhaps the great old owl would fly by the window,
giving display to their glorious plumage before
departing for the nightly hunt. or maybe a mouse
or two or three or four will rummage and discover,
much to their delight, where the berries and the
sweet mint had flourished in the remnants of a
beloved greenhouse built by a dearly departed
green thumb. as you know, anything could happen!