Something strange, fog drifting across
Yesterdays snow, wrapping itself
Around worn out trees, limbs heavy
With the burden of January, they
Sparkle in that silent mist like an
Old mans dreams of childhood he
Has not quite forgotten.
I feel like an intruder there, outcast
Wanderer on sacred ground, each
Step I take crunching in my ears like
Broken promises and the air that I
Breathe a mockery of the fog, snatched
Away by an indignant wind even as it
Invades my lungs with cold intentions.
Moving shadow, aimless silhouette, my
Presence here an anomaly, isolated invader
Of flesh and bone, I embrace this solitude
And find comfort in the cathedral silence
Of natures heartbeat, giving thanks to
Have felt its ebb and flow in the restless
Driftings of that swirling mist.