Back in Balance, by Newena Martin

All is stabilized  Happy, calm and still.  Resting behind the elderberry tree  A huge apricot moon hangs Iow in the East  Smokey and leaning - exhausted.  The tallest Ash in the bank on the lane  Stands motionless in the West.  I remember another night -  Many moons ago -  When the Ash thrashed about in a fierce wind  And the moon sharpened the sky with her light.  Then I couldn't sleep for joy -  The suspended excitement  Of looking forward  To seeing my love.  Now I cannot sleep for joy - Joy of a different kind Sweet relief and re-belief. He didn't come to my concert The first I'd ever given. He would be revising for exams he said. Then he said he was selling his car. But couldn't that have waited till tomorrow? My concert could not And will never be again It did go well, but... We were so rushed  And I SO much needed help  And I was so nervous  And afterwards I needed him so much  And couldn't believe he hadn't come.  I 'phoned him up and said - just that -  "I couldn't believe you weren't there!"  I just wanted him to know how hurt I was.  And then f put the 'phone down  Before I said more I might regret.  But it was already too much  And disappointment in extremis  Had downed me once again.  After I'd said goodbye to everyone  And unloaded the gear  I tried to ring him back.  Phone on park.   For hours.  And then no answer.  After four days of agony and agonizing,  Endless messages and discussions with his brother,  Two letters and two tapes (none of which he'd got)  I spoke to him tonight ...  He was very quiet and withdrawn.  After I had made my feelings known  And he had reminded me  I'd said I'd be able to cope  If he couldn't spare the time  And we had talked for twenty minutes or more  He said -  "Any case.......  "  " Any case WHAT?" I said - and lots more -  Exasperated - but sensing some unspoken thoughts  Rumbling behind his hesitations  And trying to draw him out  As best I am unable!  "....... Any case, I was going to ring you -  When you got home from the concert  And ask you how it went  And then come over to be with you  And bring food and wine and flowers  But you didn't give me a chance.  I am a proud man  Not someone to be stepped on  Or have abuse hurled at me  Or pies thrown at me.  I just decided to leave it." All I'd said was  "I couldn't believe you weren't there !"  But, I put the phone down!  And the way I said it .....  No, he wasn't hurt.  No, he wasn't disappointed.  No, he didn't feel guilty -  But he didn't ring me back  And he wouldn't let me ring him back.  The tension is the thrall  I once wrote elsewhere  But oh the sweet relief and peace  Of stabilization.  "Any case.....  Does it make any difference?"  He asked somewhat wistfully,  Sadly and dejectedly.  "Of course! - it makes all the difference!"  My heart leaps up and hums  My belief in him is restored  My trust in his love is renewed  And with it my faith in humanity.  Then the sky was scrubbed cleanly clear  And the air fresh and astringent.  Now tonight, the night aromas invade me  Slowly and gently  And a faint misty veil softens the warm starlight.

A Ghostly Visit, by Rosina Trotman

            There was nothing unusual about that January night, the north wind howled round the two hundred year old cottage, promising snow. Frank, my husband retired early. Then, having washed the supper dishes, and placed the guard around the remaining fire, I followed.

 Not wanting to disturb Frank, I undressed, and climbed into bed in the dark. I had lain awake for some time when, I heard the first creak, and then another. Someone was coming; coming up stairs. The fine hairs on my body became horizontal, every sense I possessed was alerted. Someone was listening at the door. I watched transfixed, as the latch lifted, and the door slowly and soundlessly, began to open.

Terrified, I dived beneath the covers, trying to silence my breath, and thumping heart. After what seemed an age, but could have only been a minute, I sensed whoever was in the room, was moving around the bed. I had to see who, so very carefully, and holding my breath; I eased back the eiderdown, and silently turned my head towards the figure looking down on, my sleeping husband.              

 I was aware of her Edwardian style, ringlets hung loosely at her neck and cheeks. The bodice of her pale green dress was pleated to the waist, with a collar of white lace. There was no malice in her face; it was pleasant and kindly, with the hint of a smile. Who is she? I thought, diving under the covers once more. When I plucked up the courage to peep again, she had gone.

My husband insists it had been a dream, but I know otherwise. Her expression intrigued me for days until, having told a friend, who suggested she maybe a mother, looking at her sleeping child. Then I understood.