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
Stormwaiting
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
