– 12C– Choka, isn’t it?

Days In The Blackberries Field R107

Unsteadily steps
The new ground beneath my feet
becomes slippery
A fog crawls under my hair
chill on my scalp
Nervousness flies out through pores
Heat attacks forehead
The hoarfrost covered the Earth
Someone killed insects
I am not supposed to stop
The journey is long
New destinations await
I must carry on
Boots pinch frostily fingers
Pair of gloves in my pocket


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