A passing stranger

The night is as still as the grave. Everything around glistens white with the harsh winter frost.


My white breath drifts skyward as a shimmering moon shoots shafts of silver light twixt the frozen trees and across a blanket of pure white snow.

So bright is the light that long black shadows stretch out from the hedgerows and wooden poles that line the narrow lane. My own walks alongside me.

I see the vague figure of a man coming towards me. He wears a hooded cloak and although he becomes clearer in the moonlight as he approaches, I am unable to make out his face. Just a hollow void.

As we pass I nod my head in greeting, but it’s as if he doesn’t see me. I look over my shoulder and notice he has no shadow, and leaves no footprints in the virgin snow.

Suddenly I am blasted with a rush of freezing wind that stings my face – then it is stops as suddenly as it started.

When I open my eyes he is gone.