Kristi Conley
Inspiration piece
Just at the end of the fall,
a forest covered in banks of snow
and the earth is dark in its serenity;
everything here a little brighter with
dusky light lying on the precipice
of the moon’s radiancy;
a snow white winter,
everything is quiet except
for the crackling and popping
of cinders glowing, fiery;
campers rise like the steam,
coalescing two temperatures separately,
and the deer scamper
away in flight alarmingly
disconnected from their plight;
hidden behind a tree,
scavenging under cover
of a perfect pitch black night,
when it’s safest to come out;
all but completely out of sight,
fear is always normal
and something to foresee;
up over the overgrowth
of ancient forest surrounded
of a fields dying grass and tundra,
through a gurgling creek,
a raging river tributary,
over then up its banks,
half across a service road;
and then life is over in
but just a second in a
fast approaching,
all encompassing bright,
white light;
none can know the hour.