In
winter
I
trudge across the frozen stubble of the wheat field
Ground
hard as iron beneath my thick boots
And
frigid air cuts through my pants like shards of glass.
My
breath forms in front of me in tiny vaporous puffs
That
hang for a moment and are gone.
Across
the turquoise sky a skein of geese wings south.
Their
honking, like encouragement, reaches my half frozen ears
As
I stand contemplating their journey, my journey.
Nearby
woods beckon with wind tossed branches.
The
snow lies deep and incandescent light makes me squint
As
the low lying sun sinks toward the western horizon.
Though
I walk I do not know where the path goes
Only
that I must follow it
Like
the geese follow some unseen path through the air
Southward,
homeward, toward the light.
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