By Heaven Angleberger
Dad and I approached
the dimly lit winter woods
careful not to crunch
loud leaves under our
cold feet. The rasping wind swarmed
about our bodies,
causing us to sway.
We staggered up the mountain
as the sun began
to rise, its shadow
looming over our painted
camouflaged faces.
We walked in silence
closing in on our hidden
destination that
hung high in a tree.
I found myself thinking twice
about the steep climb.
With my heart racing
and my vision a mixture
of red and orange,
I stood very still
taking in my surroundings.
Birds sung their own songs,
deer tracks seep in soil,
wind echoed off the trees,
my own breath falling.
I focus on the
synchronizing beat of my
heart with the fading
sound of my footsteps.
I’m left with only the sound
of my steady breath.
Post Script Magazine. 