It was that time of year
when the air is chill
and the trees stand naked and forlorn.
My soul skated out, crossed the frozen mirror,
an ice crystal dancing in the wind.

So it was, skating death,
scissoring blades slicing the serenity.
My soul skated out, and out,
until at last I spread my arms wide
and lifted my face to the open sky,
crying, 'Alive! Alive!' and alive,
I coasted in, and in,
on the frigid Vashanar winds
that brought back past the cerulean spire,
back to thee, my beloved.
Back to thee.


Penned by my hand on the 25th of Scarlatan, in the year 380 AF.