Propelled

 

Snow settles gently 

on the pages

of December,

softening the old stories,

blurring the edges

as night swallows day,

a jawline laced in sunset

and icicles.

 

As you watch, drifted,

mouse 

appears

propelled  

like a winged thing

or a breaching whale,

a tiny breath

born of snow.

 

Sudden owls 

draw near,

shrugging their silent wings,

shifting toothy talons,

awaiting 

your signal.

 

Wave them off

 

this time

while the whiskered drum of 

traveling feet 

carries you through this

hungry 

wood,

each step turning the leaves 

of a new trail,

cracking the night open 

to the binding.

 

Carry on. It will hold,

even as snow blooms

and falls, curtaining each chapter,

for even now 

another day is rising 

to meet you.

 

Leave the icy tunnels

for a lemoning sky — 

you are ready. 

Tell the story

within

to the dawn.