Beguiled

A tree line affords temporary shelter- a wintry abode- hedge-rows define the horizon- the interphase of bright green winter wheat and melancholy sky. Just beyond- warmth, safety- a fireside hearth and warm imbibment. A chill descends- naked tree limbs weave the air like spidery appendages- some remaining leaves escape. A red-tailed hawk glides overhead- looking- circling- fruitlessly searching- joining its plaintive cry to that of the wind- a bitter wind- it begins to snow, a gentle snow at first- then harder. All creatures have sought their dens- envy them- even if you no longer feel cold- when it starts to snow, warmth is a deception. Gathering twilight- falling snow- juxtaposition of field and trees- surreal- a mystical world- like a Currier and Ives print- a picture that begs sit- stay and watch for yet a little while- a sirens song. Transfixed- slipping further into nefarious warmth- unable to reach realities surface- until a not so gentle call- a sudden squall line- wind driven sleet- little daggers tear at bare skin- a slap in the face- forced wakefulness, forced action- again caressing snow- but the spell has been broken- go quickly- towards a horizon now unseen- and to that which beckons beyond.