As pale as winters shadow I walk.
The broken soldiers of bracken guiding my path.
Creeping cold into my skin, I feel it freeze me to the bone,
and turn my back against it.
The scratching nails of rabbit feet touching granite
come to me; they think I didn’t notice.
Towering grey clouds pushing white before them,
bringing the rain.
The beat of a ravens wings overhead reminds of a song.
Stopping to listen, I hear only the North wind full of rain,
and head for home.
And always in my pocket, a white quartz stone.