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.
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