Winter Night

 /   /  By Emma Birches
Stone Soup Magazine
November/December 2010

By Zoe Phillips

The world is black
No moon
No stars
As black as ink from a squid

The air is damp
And moist
My clothing is wet and cold
Up against my skin

I can hear only
My breath
And the crunching of snow
Coming from my feet

My boots sink into the crystals
Of white
I walk for hours
Until I see a light
From a cottage

I smile
And run
My feet pounding into the snow
My breath blowing in my face

All of a sudden
It’s not dark
It’s not silent
I’m home now

Winter Night Zoe Phillips

Zoe Phillips, 11
Moss Beach, California

About the Author

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