Walking Through The Woods on A Snowy Evening

My woods and yours, I think I know.

And though no plow’s pushed back the snow,

I trudge this path to town and back

Each night, to quell quiet attack

Of existential din and its echo within.

My dog, off-leash, pushing through and in

Drifts of long buried autumn smells,

Freezes at the sound: harness bells.

He too must think it queer

For horse and rider to be so near

On this walk we alone and silent take

For reconciliation’s sake.

For some, a clean, well-lighted place might keep

At bay the thoughts both dark and deep.

The evening’s chill, these woods, their shadow’s creep

Allow me hours of winter sleep.

Mike Landroche