On the hilltop swampy puddles are setting up icily

Overhead a crescent moon hooks my eye

By morning a transformation has occurred and crystalline wonders carpet trails

But as beautiful as hoar frost is

Its somehow satisfying

Laying Doc Martins crunch down

Hardstep by hardstep


For now its nightcalm


Cold as a lonely walk down a country road hauling four bags of groceries in the rain


So I don’t linger over the view

Or watch the swirlclouds paint the wind

But the troubles I carried up here to cast away

Trail along

Follow me

Until they overcloak me once again

Another layer of clothing for my soul

Under the cold crescent light of a winters night

At least they’re some insulation


David Trudel  ©  2012




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