I walk through the darkness,
The dark shapes of trees
outlined in the night.

I stare ahead of me,
the world being penciled in
Like Van Gogh's forgotten dream.

I set off through the lines,
Each step makes the distinct Russel
Of soggy leaves.

Usually, I would be guided by the bright moon or her heavenly servants,
But tonight I am on my own,
The vast expanse above me blinded by heavy clouds.

I hear a twig snap.
My head sharply turns to see the blinding distant light of my bedroom window.

It is calling me back.
But I refuse,
I haven't yet gotten what I came here for.
So I press forward.

I watch as small birds dive for cover as the world gives green life.

I so longer to be small enough to squeeze into a small tree knot.
To scurry up the trunk as the waters rise.
To glide down to a branch as to avoid the rising smoke.
Alas I am not, so I must go on.

I press forward,
A coldness seeping around my wool socks.
Each step pressing the moist fabric against my soft flesh.

I trip.

My arms instinctively pull up to protect my face as it races toward the ground.
The hard impact rattles my soul.
I lay on the ground, the cold now seeping through my thin jacket.

A slowly lift my eyes from the ground,
My ears still ringing.
I see a small shape in the darkness.
My stillness attracts it.

As it aproched my facein the darkness,
I see it's shivering. It's think wet fur doing nothing to warm it.

It cautiously comes closer,
Eventually reaching my folded arms.
It slowly settles down, needing my heat,
which I am glad to give.

I have found the answer

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