The darkness closing in
in the moment in twilight
before the moon rises,
mist flowing in like fingers,
the witching time is nigh.
A lonely howl breaks through the silence
as the wolves come out to prowl,
it's like the world has caught it's breath
and is waiting for the darkness to fade,
captured in that magick time.
The moon crests the mountains
and fills the forest with pale light,
casting silver to the shadows,
silhouetting the skeletons of trees
to lighter shades of dark.
A shadowed figure emerges
from the walls of mist building,
like a part of the night him self,
a ghost of what once was day,
but everything is darkness here.
Walking through the rivers of silver mist
as it flows among the trees like water,
an owl skims through it's fingers,
flying around the spirit like a guard,
both perfectly at home in the darkness.
