The swirling air whispers in your ear
As if to say it loves you
As it kisses your skin goodbye.
Your feet crack the crunchy leaves
Leaving a trail of crushed corpses behind you
So that whatever wishes to follow you can.
A windy whisper turns into a ghastly whistle and
The moon shines bright through the half-naked trees.
You walk alone,
Or so you think.
You shake the idea from your head and continue on
Into the forest.
You’re meeting your friend,
Or so you think.
The chilly air nips at your ear, now aided by pricks of cold rain.
The once noisy forest floor turns slippery and your feet
Sink into the brown muck.
You’re almost to your friend,
Or so you think…
-HRG
sittinginspiltink.com 