dormant life

Bare feet in the snow up to the calves upon what was an autumn trail. Cold and then numb are each little toe and wet sole and smooth heel. Blood becomes tenebrous enough to kneel and then lay and then sink into the nudity of ancient nature. The trees are as bare as the skin of a vampire dawn. They might whisper of the things people will do to feel alive. The same things people wish they had done before they were dead with their frozen ash breaths. Are we all dead waiting to be dead? The packed snow holds the armour of winter upon the pending dormant life below

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