Laced

The winter wind whisked away the tree’s last leaf;

The air, a mix of sea breezes cold, plucked by the mischievous thief.

My heart, disturbed, sank into the snow,

Glacier white, snowflakes shrouded the world below.

With friends, I ran the road fast; the snowy track, cold, yet sweet,

The wild, whistling wind wound my shoelaces, full of deceit,

Tangled and twisted, disorderly tied,

A knot formed, which I pretended not to mind.

To stop and tie, abandoned, in doubt, I hesitated to decide,

But through the frost, a purple-laced blossom caught my eye,

Defiantly rising through the snow, a tender sight,

As sunlight coolly kissed the hard, clay stone alight.

Resolved, I knelt, the petals pondered, and fell upon my knees,

To deftly weave my laces, like a supplicant with his pleas,

Dread and doubt coursed through my veins,

Tortured by the question: will my friends still remain?

Like the solitary haystack standing in the open plain,

Thoughts of desolation, emptiness, burdened my brain.

Yet,

They were waiting,

Waiting for moonlight to gloss the boat,

Waiting for clouds to descend to the valley, remote,

Waiting for tomorrow’s sun to erase our tracks,

Waiting for me to retrace the path, to rejoin our pact.

Still,

Let’s not forget:

We haven’t arrived … just yet.

To hills adorned with flowers, under skies so wide,

To trees in painted bowers where secrets hide.

Together,

Our feet will find their rhythm, as on we roam,

To the mountain’s peak,

To pick a cloud for our journey home.