The moon whispers

Oh so quietly, yet

It is louder than all else

Its words wind through the frozen trees and dance across the sparkling snow, the forest still but for its wavering reminder that

The stars are reflected in the glimmer of the headlamp's light on the snow

And the air is frozen-- it feels like the sensation of holding your hand under water so burning hot that

it begins to feel cold

somehow.

A day as grey as

the clouds above it

And the hills, which have changed from green to orange to purple to a deepest blue in the fading light

with a few bursts of yellow from the beech trees, holding on in their marcescence