Night Bird

From an acoustic set recorded live at the Red Room

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It's late. The house is dark, but she's still awake. I hear her treading softly on the stairs and the front door closes behind her as she quietly steps outside into the night. She never tells me where she goes. It's her secret and I never ask. I know I'll eventually fall asleep and when I wake in the morning, she'll be here beside me. We'll both pretend and act as if she's never been away.

It's as much as I can wish for. The night may be empty, but she lights my day. She's my life. I need her with me, but in her darker moments she needs her freedom and I must let her fly. Like a night bird.

"As long as this house of sin endures

Fear will haunt the Red Room"

H.G. Wells

"I can assure you," said I, "that it will take a very tangible ghost to frighten me." And I stood up before the fire with my glass in my hand.

"It is your own choosing," said the man with the withered arm, and glanced at me askance.

"Eight-and-twenty years," said I, "I have lived, and never a ghost have I seen as yet."

The old woman sat staring hard into the fire, her pale eyes wide open. "Aye," she broke in; "and eight-and-twenty years you have lived and never seen the likes of this house, I reckon. There's a many things to see, when one's still but eight-and-twenty." She swayed her head slowly from side to side. "A many things to see and sorrow for."