Tuesday, November 18, 2008

Ghost town

November is a ghost town
Dead trees, silence
Except the faint crackle of brittle leaves against the ground
Scratching, scrambling of squirrels on tree bark
Haunting moan of the wind.

In the evening
Twisting, reaching tree limb fingers
Silhouetted against a hazy moon
All it takes is faint footsteps behind
Dark crevices in hedges
To spook you into a run
Panting, fog-breathed.

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