A Whisper on the Path

He called to her, a whisper

She continued along the path, not hearing his call.

Hurriedly moving, the frost coming,

All she heard was the sound of the wind, howling

The misery of the bare trees dangling,

Limbs that shivered, no foliage to keep them warm.

He called to her; a whisper, though louder than the first,

It bounced off the tree trunks, echoing in the night.

She hurried along the path,

The cold permeating the coldness of the jacket,

She was drenched to the skin.

Bones chattering, like squirrel cracking nuts.

She hurried along the path,

The shadows following closely.

She could barely see ahead,

The light having long disappeared.

And in its place swirled a fog consuming everything,

A darkness of white cloud covering the path that would lead her home.

He called to her, a whisper

Lost within the howling trees and scurrying feet

Animals seeking shelter from the biting cold, the falling snow

She buried her neck deeper into the folds of her jacket,

Fingers frightfully numb,

Clutching the opening where a button once was

She hurried along the path

No longer knowing if she ventured in the right direction

Or whether she was lost

Tiny slivers of icicles on her eyelids

She ventured on, not seeing

But knowing there was going to be an opening.