You have stumbled through this boggy undergrowth, pushing through the twilight mist, for what feels like an age. How did you begin this journey? The damp greyness leeches all memories. Your entire focus has been the mechanical lifting and placing of weary feet onto uncertain ground, the only sound your laboured breath.
That glimmer after the trees quickens your heart. Answers. Warmth. Company!
You slog forward, renewed.
Hours later the gap remains. The light shines beyond your reach.
You stop, gasping, unsure if your face is wet from tears or mist.
And that cracking noise nearby…. branches rubbing against each other in a breeze? Or the warping of unnatural musculature?
You damn the light for its false hope but struggle forward, aware of the snapping sound behind.
You finally comprehend the value of the pinprick of light when it blinks out.
Alone in the gloaming with the crackling, cackling rush closing in.
Inspired by a photo taken in my local woods at dusk, as the mist pressed in.