Updated: Nov 25, 2019

Another season changes from movement towards stillness.

The cold traps me, layer by layer, holding me hostage.

My efforts are at last in vain. I'm frozen in time like a man forever reaching.

For months I wait, forgotten in plain sight. I pray the light will pierce the cold and liberate me from this self-created prison.

A drip, and a drop; a taste of freedom.

At once, I flex my aching fibers, brushing against the shore with wax and wane.

I gather and surge, internment forgotten, refusing to consider its eventual return.

For it will return, as is its nature, just as it’s my nature to seek freedom from its icy clutches.

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