Mr Newson

I know he is there so close I can smell the tobacco smoke on his beard.
In my darkest moments and deepest sleep I am aware of his presence.
It is many years since he passed, I was just a child..
I barely knew him
So why?

I remember his eyes, blue but rheumy with age.
His hands almost transparent with purple veins standing out from the stretched tight skin.
I remember the peppermints he kept in a tin.
By his chair.
He would offer me one and I would shake my head.
Too strong for my childish taste.
My Gran told me when he died, she sat me on her knee and that was the first time that he came to me.
I have never been afraid.
Why?

Many months may pass between his visits.
He brings me no answers.
Reassurance or Retribution
But I am strangely calmed and quietened.
For a few brief moments.
Why?