March 9, 2020
The eerie fog looms just below the treetops
The sound of crunching branches fills my ears
The owls, protectors of the forest, ask who goes their
It is I, great owls of the forest
A pause in noise, as if the world had stopped
Suddenly
Twinkling rays of the moon shoot through the fog
Lighting the path ahead
Like it had always been there
I walk down the path, not knowing who is watching
Or who is following
Or if I will ever make my way home