The mist steals in
and the land succumbs to silence,
the minutes slow,
the scene crystallizes.
She says ‘Hush my daughter,
your rest is assured’
and I believe her.
I am washed of the worlds assault
by a breath of wind in winter
and the light of the moon on the lake.
Oh now THAT’S the stuff. Balm. Your words are so slippery smooth they leave trails of delight in my ponder.