The forlorn lake, surrounded by tattered evergreens
and decoratively dagged with sorrow
signals the approach of the December skyline
and the uncomfortable lengthening of the nights.
The unremitting snow forms a wimple of anonymity
such that all the trees and footprints are cloaked in cold white.
I call for help, lost in the wayward flurries, but the lights are out
and voices don't carry in the forest's corset of darkness.