Without Form

There it is again, the sound from the attic. A bump and a scrape. It arrives around this time every year since I moved in. The leaves turn gold and red and brown and begin to fall from their trees. The air turns colder and the days begin to shorten and then sound begins again. It sticks around each day and night until All Hallows Eve, and then, like summer, is gone.

I've become used to the sound, and what comes with it. That is surprising in and of itself. If you'd have told me five years ago when I first moved in that I could become used to something like this, treat it as if it were just another of life's fun twists, I'd have labled you crazy. Now I take the sound in stride and welcome my yearly visitor with freindly demeanor and a sense of..., I don't know... comfort, I guess?

The sun ls beginning to paint the horizon in red and purple, the low clouds give it flavor and spread the colors across the western sky. I climb the stairs to the attic to say hello to my guest.

The attic is dark and smells musty. I pull the door closed behind me and stand still for a few moments while my eye adjust to the dimmness. Only a little light enters here, through the cracks at the edges and under the eaves. My eyes begin to see the faint glow of a form floating in the air in the darkest corner of the room. Gradually it brightens and it appears to recognize me. It floats forward and takes shape, a glowing cloud of silvery motes that take the shape of a young boy. He is dressed in old fasioned finery, a vest, thin tie, jacket and pantaloons gathered mid-calf where his socks start. Black, square-toed shoes with silver buckles make no sound as he steps towards me, floating more so than walking. He does not speak, he never has, but I understand much of what he wants to tell me know. We have become friends in a strange way over the years.

I take my seat on the padded trunk I moved here just for this reason, picked up the old hard-backed copy of Lord of the Rings and began to read. The incorporeal form of the young boy floated up onto the old chaise lounge left here from many years ago.

We both settled in as I began the story from the beginning once again.