pricks and pins, these flakes land upon my hand and i dont look to where they fall.
pain on my skin, frozen sensations tingle across my fingers and jump off the end where i am pointing.
my index fingers flicks snow from its nail and points to the lonely distance.
a cold lonely distance, land white and lonely and cold.
on that far off plane, seven deer gallop accross the blanket of snow, bouncing and bounding.
not lonely, not cold.
dancing together happily warm on the blanket of snow.
the one buck looks from the distance up to where I stand self pittied and self shivered.
i bolt, running away from the question in its eyes.
