The biting chill of the night finds its way inside. The wind gnaws through cloak, skin & bone. The late autumn moon, no longer full, still glares across cloudless skies. Its stark, cold light, the more bitter the atmosphere of this evening makes. Silent watchers in the shadows wait. They dare not breathe, lest their icy breath betray their presence in our world. The wind whips once more the fragment of cloth that binds and protects this corporeal shell. A long, convulsive shudder undulates through yielding flesh. Muscle & bone, flesh and courage falter. No hearth fire is warm enough. No flame bright enough to purge the night. Best to settle in behind closed doors and curtains. Before a tumultuous fire with a warm body beside you. But, alas! Alone. The ferocity of the frosty air is verified. Vilified. Validated.
Posted on: Mon, 25 Nov 2013 03:45:20 +0000
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