I’m on a mountain top,
wrapped up in a down coat,
huddled in a tent or igloo,
silence all about me,
the sky open and translucent,
stars burning holes in it;
my thoughts swirl in the
wind, making patterns against
the clouds, and not a life nor
a thing, no calls whatsoever,
save for the echoes of ice
dribbling down
the slopes,
is around to
interrupt
me.
Mad Girl Writing 