Muse |
Muse |
Breath curls as the lips laugh wide, stepping outside for the first time in a while; the Boxing Day walk takes its stride across the fields encrusted with frost, crackling like chestnuts as our boots become cocky, over the style; we slide on that wooden reach stretching over, Focusing on faces as a bridge provides the platform for a perfect picture. The stream is a seam along the valley, bringing the country closer together; drawn for us to follow and find each other. Muddy footprints are the only mark we leave behind under the trees, away from the breeze, as we push up the hill, like a stomach full of cheer. We are nearing the top; full to the brim with mince pies and turkey, and all of those chocolates drop from our pockets as we climb. The view is my home as we ride the ridge above the hairline of trees; seeing the other side and being grateful. Treats await us at the next bend as we descend to a happy place, Hand-in-hand with no cause to worry nor hurry. Our feet meet the ground, leaving as we found the path with memories of sledging and snow a long time ago. Returning to the fire and the present long desired, we dream of Christmas again. Originally written in December 2017, age 21
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AuthorSamantha is a doctoral researcher researching the power of figurative language in advertising, social media, and mobile technology. Copyright © 2022
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