Falling Backwards

Early evening,

in the woods at dusk,

snowshoes

melting through,

the buttercream snow,

each footfall,

a journey

unto itself.

 

In the field at last,

I fell backwards,

without fear,

and that’s where I stayed,

long enough

to watch,

the branches above me,

disappear into,

the fading light

of

an early evening sky.

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