Muddy Forest in Winter

When the completely crinkled brown leaves cling to the otherwise empty branches valiantly, through snow and even as spring emerges; blindness will assemble on cringing eyes. That is when the pair of bald eagles on the icy river start to forget all the white lies slipping into the water. Anticipation starts in the worn out arches of the feet and rolls up the tingling skin. Risking immeasurable possibility, spaces between pores raise.

From the nether figures darting on the wind the blackness of the chilling night air comes home as a full moon shines through the swiftly rolling silver clouds. Until the velvet red curtain is raising, we realize we still will not know the end. the always unknowable end. Who had no clues where the shining silver rays bounced through the bare branches?  Before the weak-kneed fear, clutching the stomach heaving uncontrollably took hold. Shaking the words out of the mouth with a tightening grip on the throat. The dog can never gloat when his hands are bloody too. Looking at shoe tracks in the snow feels like sinking in the coming heavy mud.

No, it is dark scary and full of worms and bones.

forget about what was read from her mouth it was all in everyone's head. All the moments spent giving, forgot how some would rather be living. Cascacding clouds in the endless descending sky who? Can never ask them why the wind blows always so fiercely in the way. No more forlorn days crazed and coiled in fear, the serpent cannot stop to hear more than she already is. Shoes slip in the mud downward. Collapsing all the ways up as aching feet sink back down. Sounds like dogs doing a masters bidding are not too far off the heels. Still a clown grasping out of breath ignoring all the things taking away from the tenacious focus.

-Ed Tajchman