I only meant to stretch my legs,
the afternoon not yet decided.
The dog trotted ahead,
nose to ground, certain of things.
I had not counted the hours,
but light thinned—
a wind came
like someone clearing their throat
in another room.
Branches stiffened,
and the air pressed closer,
as if testing my resolve.
The path bent.
Or I did.
Somewhere a landmark—
a rotted gate, a broken stile—
failed to appear.
The dog was gone,
its absence a gap
I could not call into.
By then the cold
had its hands on me.
The trees thickened,
each one the same.
I turned, then turned again.
The fence sagged, inching towards the soil it would join.
I chose a way at random,
and the path went on
and on.
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Originally Posted by tailor STATELY
