Untitled #9

Untitled #9 by moi
Music Sigur Ros

It’s the very end of December,
Just west of waypoint #9,
Pushing past the half-light
Into the pause of the long blue hush
Of nautical and astronomical twilight.

The trail slides down steeply,
Shale sounds of two tyres making
Temporary channels
In a dry river of stones,
Enveloped in the pitch-black outlines
Of fractured trees,
Like old dinosaur bones.

Stop.

Gathered, now.
A last climb west, body fatigued before the final descent.
The V in the tree line, the last escape out,
Tyres dancing in muddied puddles, reflecting the last light,
And the benighted things left behind to graze about.

Peddling west now, up the final incline,
Deep in the long blue hush,
Of this winter landscape,
Just west of waypoint #9

[media=https://youtu.be/_FFT4JYJB9E]