Held In-between

In the winter the dark can be clinging, damp and saturated. Light doesn’t cut through it, instead adding to the tonality of a monochrome landscape. Shapes drift into focus and recede into shadow. Glittering moisture permeates the air. Swimming, without buoyancy. The shape of a gliding owl blurs at the edges of its silhouette. Softy glowing statue like forms of deer emerge, then engulfed again in the mist. There is silence. Sharp cracks of a hoof on dry branches are sudden and close. Shadows deceive, sometimes flitting across my path. Anonymous and fleeting. The softly caustic air strips back my eyes and warm tears track along my cheeks. The air feels connected to the earth, bathing me in the landscape. In this time there is just my breathing, just my senses existing, observing. Instinctively I track the sky for light, no seeping dawn or lamplight from the moon. Everything at rest, held in-between.