Winter Wood

I walk in the wood at dusk

As the sun gathers up its last rays of the day

Leaving the warm air heavy with mist

Long tendrils curling up from the earth

And winding through the trees,

Climbing toward the newly darkened sky

Spreading through limbs and across paths

Dulling the moonlight to grey where it lands around me

Silver light glancing off wet, barren limbs

In my winter wood

Stands of trees reaching up and out

Of the silver light, colliding their way up the ridges

And closing over my head as I climb with them,

Heading for the apex where I can look out

Over the valley below, slowly filling

With the fog, white now from above 

As the moonlight falls

Over this winter wood

Ridges rising askew around me, great prehistoric behemoths

Flexing their wrinkled backs across my landscape

As they lie in silence under the winter sky

Seas of white mist now froth about in the rising wind,

Lifting even higher, rising beyond the valley walls

To spill into the darkening night, chasing the moon

As her circuit ends and the night truly comes,

Darkness closing first along the path behind me, 

Slowly shrouding the trees from the ground up

Tendrils of mist twirling up and up in pursuit of the moon

As if to join the clouds to the forest,

The sky to the earth,

And captured between

I walk in the winter wood