Have you ever had the feeling someone is watching you from outside? Well, this happened constantly in a secluded cottage I rented years ago. Tapping on the window, shadows moving across the glass, and then I realized why and wrote a poem about it.

Peeping Through the Window

Who’s that peeping through the window?
With a large pink face.
Round, and encircled with curls like lace,
her friend looks inquisitive,
that seems true.
His expression curious,
and complexion a purplish-blue.
Startling me,
they sway arm in arm,
staring through the glass,
strangely calm.
I take a closer look and suddenly realize,
they’re not nosey neighbours or sinister spies,
they’re not children playing or passing strangers,
but they are floral friends,
gracefully, growing tall hydrangeas.