A WALK IN WINTER

I'm blending into the sky. It's insipid grey
Infuses hands and face with cold lifelessness.
Barely a shade darker, the bony fingers of skeletal trees
Clutch at my coat sleeves like cadavers, begging
For life-force to clothe again their naked forms
In summer green. Oh I swear these vampiric beings
Would steal mine, should exhaustion slow my steps
And lull me into the mental absence of half-sleep.
So I push onwards...

Stumbling over hoof prints fossilised in frozen mud.
Last autumn's leaves, now decomposing,
Cling to my boots releasing the distinctive odour
Of damp mould.
Everything is slowly decaying here in nature's graveyard,
Where even mighty ferns lie shrivelled and impotent as death.
Is mine the only life in this forsaken wood?
As if in answer to my unspoken question,
The Sun slips over the edge of a cloud bank
Casting my shadow across a tiny snowdrop -
So white and vibrant
Against the endless brown.