The creek
Muddled footsteps
In the dirt,
Wind in our ears,
The sun
Shrinks down beneath
The mountains.
Watered down sunlight
Hits your face
With a soft breath
And your cheeks
Are wind-chapped.
We kick up ice.
The lone bird calls out
Ringing over the vast
Consuming
Silence.
Bare trees loom
Holding the last few leaves
Of summer
Which dawdles away
As fall rushes by
Pulling winter along.
Numb fingers
Carry sticks and poke holes
In the thin fragments
Of glassy ice.
Frosty grass
Crackles underfoot.
Dry, dead snow
Crumbles to make way
For soggy
Rummescent leaves
And dark mud.
The footprints we follow
Are faint and few
And we are silent
As sticks crunch
Damply.
Between us there is
A mutual
Silence,
While we glare against
The sharp frosty air
To look for the
Unknown.
Hands to the sky,
fragmented by clouds,
Palms cupped
to our mouths,
Some forbidden sign.
