I resisted as long as I could.
It called to me.
There's no other explanation as to why I knew it was out there
- cold, snow dusted, untrod -
waiting for me.
Waiting for the press of my feet.
Straining for the sound of my crossing.
The sky so grey that no shadow would betray my passing.
"...a poor player, that struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more."
~macbeth
2 comments:
Engaging...
Quite an effective, yet subtle compilation.
Thank you! We don't often get snow this deep in the crotch of the Bible Belt, so it tends to get my creative juices flowing. Hopefully, with encouragement and feedback from friends, family, and wonderful readers like you, I'll stick to this little project a little better this year than I did last year.
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