While Walking

The moon is beautiful.

It lights up the sky yellow, but muted,

wreathed in cloud - properly rumpled and strewn,

catching light few bother to look for.

Bare stars glitter through

the wispy blackness.

This cold is perfect.

The sound of stiff souled boots

is rhythmic, comforting,

like a heartbeat.

It is quiet like cleanness.

Quiet so rare,

most will never know.

It feels healthy

breathing this air, easy.

The path should go on forever

to stay in this place,

full of shadow,

ink

and solitude.