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St. Sebastian
walked, mid January,
through snowy wood
stepping lightly the tracks
of those traveled before,
leaving some for those behind.
no turns but trees to rest upon
no crickets to sing or call
no voices but those of
my companions
no other sounds,
the winds unfettered,
but that of our feet
crushing through
and impermanent.
as I looked further,
down the trodden path
we traveled,
it was Sebastian I thought of
and his arrows
– Hoc Scripsi
image courtesy of Magpie Tales, #50
the platitudes of willful resemblance 