Peninsula
Crunching steps on frozen paths, the wind’s teeth in the soft of the ear, aching with the news of children slaughtered under the guise of peace. The coyotes venture out to feed in the crusted snow, stopping at the sound of the waves; a long drink of water after a parched night. A howl unleashes on this edge of cliff and sea, despair rising through the long Winter air. Claiming this peninsula as Sanctuary.



Haunting, Abbie. I live on a peninsula, as well. And it, too, is Sanctuary - but never removed from this troubled world. May there be peace.