The wind whistles across the cornfield tracks
through trees that creak and groan their
protests against harsh winter’s sting.
Although the strong and unbending girth
soars high above my head,
they become weak in the season’s chilly slap
and I watch, with wary eyes, as they speak
their words of warning.
The trail looms out ahead of me,
Autumn leaves scurry to find safe places,
like I should seek,
but I continue forward, into the wind,
bracing myself against winter’s cold embrace.