Archive
12/10/09
Dusks
This deepening zero-degree-wind-chill dusk, I sense my entire being, like a rambunctious colt, Getting up its hot blood, in a demon's rush, to bolt scattershot, Head for higher, colder, snowy northern regions, Those treacherous stretches of desolation called "wilderness," Which have no relationships other than with nature.
Before my soul knows it, Its restless, fleshless bones will be chattering, clattering, Roaming like foxes, deers, black bears, rabbits, and squirrels, Plodding, in snowshoes, as far as their energy will take me, Across the iced-over lake, the empty seclusions of woods, Until all my dusks coalesce into destiny's dust.
12/10/09
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