The old gray mare...

If it would just move a nano-second slower. If I could just turn my head a half turn faster. I would be able to see what it is. Still, it evades me. It's dark. Blurry. Gray around the edges sometimes. Not always. It's the not always that leaves me believing there is more than one. If it were the same area each time I might lay the blame directly upon the way the light or lack of hits that area. But it's everywhere I turn in this house. Not only when I'm alone now. It's growing braver. Where does it go when it's not teasing me so openly? Believe me, I've went on a mad hunt for it. There are just so many damn corners to turn and it (or they) outruns me everytime. The old gray mare she ain't what she used to be, ain't what she used to be...