Posted Saturday June 11
The night is still as a grave. Everything around glistens white in the harsh winter frost. My white breath drifts skyward as a shimmering moon shoots shafts of silver light twixt frozen trees and over a blanket of pure white snow. Long black shadows stretch out from the hedgerows and wooden poles that line the narrow lane. My own walks beside me, keeping me company.
The vague figure of a cloaked man comes towards me. He becomes clearer in the moonlight as he approaches, yet I am unable to make out his face. Just an eerie hollow void. As we pass I nod my head in greeting, but it’s as if he doesn’t see me. I glance over my shoulder; he has no shadow, leaves no footprints in the virgin snow.
I am blasted by a rush of freezing wind that stings my face, then ceases as suddenly as it started. When I open my eyes he is gone.
At Sunday Scribblings 2 our given word is Blasted