Soon it will snow, of that I am sure. In the meantime here are a few words inspired by this week's Sunday Photo Fiction.
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 shadow walks alongside me, keeping me company.
A vague figure walks towards me. He wears a hooded cloak and although he becomes clearer as he approaches, I am unable to make out his face. All I see is a hollow void.
As we pass I nod my head in greeting, but it’s as if he sees me not. I glance over my shoulder and see he has no shadow. He leaves no footprints in the virgin snow.
I am chilled by a rush of freezing wind that stings my face. I shut my eyes then it ceases as suddenly as it began. I open them, I look but he is no more.