An Evening In Winter

A winter evening, silent and sombre.
The trees stood, with branches bare.
Dead leaves and small, broken twigs
Crunched under shoes, old and frayed.
Icicles hung from the branches above.
Pale fingers brushed against a trunk-
Hard and damp, icy to her warm touch.

Drew her scarf closer to her neck.
Her hot breath melted in to the air.
Hands close to her body, brows knitted.
She walked on a winding path, desolate.
Stood by a frozen lake, its secrets hidden.
Flanked by dying weeds, yellow and brown.
Like worn - out soldiers they stood withered and bent;
Bent under the weight of flakes and hail.
The winds sang, the trees murmured.
They told her stories, of secrets unheard.

They whispered and chuckled, shrieked and howled.
They created a din, a cacophony of sounds.
She whispered to them, "Tell me more."
With a cracked voice, she urged for more.
Her lips turned blue, her eyes watered.
Her throat parched, yet she wondered.
Yet she stood in the woods for long.
Waiting for answers to questions she didn't know.