As he reached the crest of the hill,
the woodland breathed a silver mist.
All was frozen to still silence;
squirrels instantly turned to trees
and rooks vanished into kingdoms
of twisted branches. Life waited
for some lion- like spell to pump warmth
through frost bitten limbs. The music
stopped, and nothing stood in the way
of the dark spirits of morning.
The trees split open and blood seeped
on to the woodland floor. Bats flew
into the distress of sunlight.
The rusty harvest of dead leaves
boiled and the bracken bowed its fronds
to cover the unblinking eye.
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