Spring turns to autumn which moults 
Into winter. The winds blow cold
And the skies are a myriad shades
Of grey. The trees in their glades
Stand stark and naked. Their leaves
Now mottled, dying underneath
Trampling feet. Hurrying feet across
Paths well trodden and paths that are lost
In the gloom. Winter’s dirge
Fills the spaces in between to merge
With the mist. She throws a blanket
On the quiet world. And then she touches
My cheek. I turn my face away and she spreads
Her arms. I’m enveloped from toes to head
From right hand to left. I stand still
And let her feel. She takes her fill
And then undoes her vapory hold. I finally see
The path stretching clear ahead of me

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