Inspired by the poetry of Ann Åhsberg in Music in the Mountains.

cold water runs

through my thin, pale fingers

the ground crunches

beneath my shoes

my slim frame shakes, trembling against the cold

cold water, cold air, cold sky

lining the road crunching underfoot

the trees shake as I do

we are alike


morning is alive, the chill skirting over my skin and underneath my clothes


ploughing through my skin

diving into my pores

and digging deep into my bones

the cold invaded my being

- I trudge on

travelling further


along the road


I stop to touch the trees, to touch their leaves

water coats my hands, my skin

I move on

to the next tree

I love the smell of trees, of earth

of water


I love the mornings when I have a moment

for my morning walk