Long strokes of shadow foretold
the end of this day. I watch
the sullen horizon
for the cold moon to appear,
an ancient face in crescent profile
rising from puddled fallow fields.
My gaze, ablaze on its eternal path
of phased illumination, moonlight
snipping cameo images between
bony twigs of trees, and I wait
for the inevitable – winter’s wind
folding me into deep blankets.
Written for Trifecta: Prompt #63, 3rd definition of Path
Artwork © Misky February 2012