The air is thick , heavy like my breath
along this cold winter path.
Stones stacking up all around me
as were I in a prison quarry.
I pause to turn a corner's edge.
The urge to flee the unwelcome scene
briefly overtakes my soul.
I wait, quiet, stifling my alarm
at solitude's sneering stir,
as carefully I step to evade this somber home.
Better to welcome the heavy stones
and touch their grave contours.
The trick is not to mind their weight
and allow time to make brittle
their walls, to walk clothed in patience
and with confident stride
past their crumbled mass that once tried
to bury my heart's hope and winged desires.
Trudi Ralston.
January 6th, 2015.
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