Snowed in, somewhat. For the Day 2 prompt.
in the winter when it rains.
When the wind, like the fingers
of a malevolent one probe beneath.
in a place sometimes lost
where memories once lived,
lies the linger of disquiet.For forgetting.
the smell of fresh wood wafts in,
borne as though on wings of the wind.
Then, these bones – aching in the cold – rejoice.