A Fight in the Forest

The trees in the nighttime forest encircle me like a boxing ring

offering no escape,

with rusting ropes made of amber leaves

and thick trunked ringposts

which have seen so many battles like this

end in tragedy.

My opponent, the bitter cold wind, is pulling no punches

and is determined to defeat me.

I find myself up against the ropes

to the delight of the audience of wolves,

who watch on hungrily,

raucously howling for their gambles to pay off

at the expense of my life.

But as the back of my head collides with the adamantine cortex

I feel hope awaken inside me,

with everything against me but time on my side

I have nothing to lose.

So I let the cold slap me in the face every now and then,

making sure I wrap enough to endure it.

knowing that their offence will leave gaps in their defence,

and sure enough, picking my shots carefully,

things start to feel a bit warmer

and nothing they can throw deters me.

I know that I can outsmart the night with enough positivity

and with that thought in my head

I see the first orange glitters

emerge from between the branches at the peak of each corner,

the brightness suddenly shines down on the audience

highlighting that the wolves have disappeared

and the dew-filled grass is now rampant

with rabbits in a buoyant bounce

and flowers rising in rapid rush.

The sun is up;

and so the cold's time is up.