At Last

Here, it is stone cold.

The heat of the quiet fury in her heart carries her through the winter forest, the deeper she goes. Her ankles sink deep into the piles of snowflakes, as if inviting her in.

Every part: all that she is, feels welcomed.

Here, she is not hurried.

The brilliant sun-burst through the trees is slowly fading, yet the farther she trods. The white snow’s glitter-show lessons. Her breath halts at the serenity of it all; the silence is beautiful, the icey air so crisp.

At last.

Here, she can breathe.

Here, she is lonesome.

Here, it is stone cold, but there is peace.