The field lay,

sad, cold, brown stalks rising rigidly and meaningless

from blue snow in footprinted rows

dark in the light of the orange sun

shining out between two lone trees

covered in blue-white snow.

The sky clouded, dark, lonely, even though

there is a little bit of fire at the bottom.

It only makes the dark stand out more.

The snow glitters, and the footprints

are cold and empty, waiting.