she had fallen asleep writing. the pen still in her left hand, her face buried somewhere in between the pages, her long hair like gently rolling hills exposing the smallest portion of her neck. she sat motionless, her breath the only movement in her posture. a sparrow perched at her window and peered inside, took note of the events, and with the quickest of reflexes vanished. a squirrel followed, scurrying, jetting back and forth, nervously chewing, its grayish tail bristling upwards towards the cloudy sky. autumn leaves swirled across the backyard, reorganizing themselves over and over again, as if never satisfied. the wind had picked up and a few drops dotted the windowpane, the chimes on the front porch twirled in and out of knots. a loud knock at the front door broke the sequence of events. she continued motionless, in fact venturing deeper into sleep. the doorknob began to turn and the door creaked open, she had forgotten to lock it. in stepped a tall shadowy dark figure of a man, with a long brown coat and tophat. he carried a suitcase that smelt of decaying wood and aged tobacco, his first steps leaving dried mud where he stood. setting his briefcase down he closed the door behind him and checked his inner coat pocket for something he could not find. he removed his coat and sat it next to his suitcase on the dusty floor. he was wearing an old weathered suit, a faded blue that appeared grey from a distance. one of the buttons was missing as just the thread protruded outwards. grabbing for a yellowish white handkerchief that he kept in his backpocket, he lifted his hat and dabbed himself across the forehead. noting how quiet the abode was, he gently creaked across the floor, carefully considering how much weight he placed into each step. turning the corner he spotted her asleep, a mound of papers and hair with two legs jetting from underneath the table, feet crisscrossed. he approached her and came down on her gently and ever so slowly like the night does to the day. . . spotting the exposed portion of her neck, he gently landed a kiss, his lips touching her skin like running a flower pedal across ones arm. she rustled and turned her head to one side exposing a side of her face. he again leaned down and this time whispered into her ear so very quietly that not even the sparrow that had come back to perch on the windowsill could hear. he leaned back so slowly and retraced his steps as elusively as a plant follows the sun across the sky, put his long brown jacket back on, again searched his inner pocket for something he could not find, gathered his suitcase and was out the door as the knob turned back to its starting position. dried mud that stood in tiny mounds by the door and the faintest odor of oak barrels and scotch hinted at his presence. a single tear rolled down her cheek and smugged a few words. truth be told that even whilst she slept, she knew that she would never see him again, hear his voice again, or smell his brute odor, and that she never did.