Marooned
April 17 2023
It's like walking on sand.
The rising tide
will soon engulf the beach;
wiping it clean,
and leaving no evidence
of your existence.
And is harder than it looks.
But this is wind,
obscuring any sign
you passed this way
as soon as you take a step.
A headwind
funnelling in along the trail,
and fresh dry snow
light as air
dancing in your wake.
So you trudge
head down
directly into it,
as if marooned in the here and now;
wind-sculpted snow
ahead and behind.
A ghostly figure, working hard,
forging doggedly through the white-out.
Just the outline, now and then
glimpsed through slitted eyes.
Stinging snow
pelting them,
the brightness almost blinding.
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