In The Cornfield

frosted-trees-4-1404625

The moonless night has wrung out
the whitewashed
hours of day,
and snowflakes gather like lint
from the open pocket
of the sky.

Somewhere, a corncrake caws into
the stillness;
its echo rings,
and in the woods beyond, branches
crack like splintered bones
in the chill.

I lay low beneath the frozen earth,
the seasons
sink my body,
and you will not think to look beneath,
so you will not hear or
see me there.

Author: ataraxicat

I am a 27-year-old Literature graduate and school teacher, based in the UK. I enjoy writing in my spare time. All characters and events are fictitious, probably mostly.

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