lost
trees stripped bare
can only offer naked limbs
against the driving wind
no sanctuary there
hard cold snow stabs the face
stings the eyes shut
the brain becomes numb
closed in to it’s survival mode
there is no sun
no direction
no reference
no reassuring beacon flashing
through the impenetrable
blowing snow
only whiteness
the world is a small place
I walk with my back to the wind
because there is no other way
maybe a fence line will cross my path
then I only have to choose
which direction
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