WHERE THE WINDS BLOW

The trees of the forest shake,

their limbs fearing the next quake.

Their thick trunks glisten in white,

with tears frozen from their plight. 

Surrounded on four sides by white, 

the bright glare has blinded my sight.

A shadow emerges from the trees.

I hope it is not him, pretty please.

My body moves forward against my will.

I grab a tree trunk and try to hold still.

I dig my feet into the packed snow,

but I must go where the wind will blow.