Do you hear that?
It is rubbing at the door. Like a lovers caress.
I open the curtains and I see the fog. Fog. Fog has given birth and produced yet more.
When does the silence stop screaming?
When you are alone. And the only thing that you can hear is the fire fucking the wood.
The silence can become defining.
I want to throw open the windows and let in the fog. I want it to kiss at me with its damp lips. And It's cold breath. I want it to hiss over me and blow cold into my ear.
I swing on my cape. I pull out my braid. And I head out the door. I leave it open. And I cannot be bothered with it now.
No one will enter. Nothing will threaten my home.
My ears hear the wet sobs of the trees. Dripping all around me. And on me. Even on my head. Sliding down my temple to land on my collarbone. It cools me.
My skirt sways around my ankles. My feet are bare. The leaves carpet themselves for me. I am their Queen.
With each step they cradle my feet. They lay themselves out and form a lush mantle.
My footsteps are hushed. They are quiet. Only my heartbeats loud this night.
Mist grabs at me. It trails on my skirt and tugs for attention. The air is thick with it. I feel it enter my lungs. I feel it blow through my body.
Beauty is around me. The beauty of life, of death and of life again, not yet reborn.
The promise of life remains here.
I lift my face to the icy wind. It blows up my skirt and causes gooseflesh to erupt. Seemingly one bump at a time. Until I am covered with them. Until they form a new layer to me.
I hold myself still. I inhale this air. Filled with decaying leaves and the promise of life not yet ready to slip from its naturalistic womb.
I breathe it in. It becomes me. I open my eyes and my heart is filled with wonder. I wrap my arms around my body, and I sway.
