Snow Walk

Along the pathway
up the rising hill

biting, bitter winds whip
through the trees, 

ascend the path,
and force snowflakes
from the ground
to mingle
with those from tree
limbs and sky.

The air at the summit

is much kinder.

Evening breezes

encompass

passersby;
a friendly embrace.

Fog and mist:

an almost tangible blanket

covers the ground
lingers in the branches of trees
as leaves in summertime.

Original Paragraph:

In winter, the pathway juxtaposing the rising hill is usually the most unpleasant portion of the walk from there to here. The biting, bitter wind whips through the trees, ascends path and causes me to gasp and gulp as I struggle to catch my breath. Tiny snow pellets of sleet collide with my susceptible face and hands and I tear up. Something about traversing on that particular path causes me to unintentionally weep. Is it as a result of the pain of the ice on my eyes or the stinging air? The roughness of the hillside has a way of doing that whether I expect it to or not. Tonight is not like other winter nights. Descending the hill is warmer and much more pleasant. The air is much kinder to my eyes. The evening breeze seems to encompass me in a sort of friendly embrace. Fog and mist form a physical, almost tangible blanket that wraps me up and hides me from the outside world and the outside world from me.  A refreshing evening rain drizzles down as the sky exhales its wealth of water. The night is cool still but something is temperate about it too. Walking the path tonight, I am not choked by the wind, rather I find myself breathing in deeply the entirely of what I am experiencing. I inhale again and again, slowly. My pace slows to a stroll in the moment and I am hoping that I won’t soon return to my retreat inside.