Frozen Moment

Fall is turning the ground golden and rustic but winter will blow in the covering of white snow. I watched the horizon the artic line, trying to define the mood of season. Snow-blown relics on artic expeditions, frost-bitten, snow blind the rolling gray clouds masking the blinded winter’s black madness. I watch as fall tumbles from its pedestal. Chilling nakedness lurks on the tree limbs. The distant horizon is inhospitable as a bedfellow with constant pain. I am soundless and motionless in this moment of frozen monochrome. I pull my collar tighter to block the present chill.