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Eritherium
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At Winter's End
Late-Winter glade.
Sheltered by this belvedere.
Hanging on by a thread,
it is here I rest.
Surrounded by death,
these trees as martyrs.
White mist before me,
sole sign of life.
Frozen as this forest,
I resume motion,
spurred on by dreams of back home...
The warmth of a fire.
Rooted in earth,
both hurdle and protection,
an endless breadth
of twisted trees.
Momentary gusts of wind
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cover my footprints.
The trail leading from
my transient shelter.
Repressing my doubts,
I wander through this forest,
hoping that with each step,
I get closer to my home.
Past the tops of the trees,
the sky begins to clear.
Woods fade into light
as this white mist dissipates.
A shroud of doubt is lifted
and clarity seeps in.
As I stand here,
at Winter's end.
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