Following the Woodsman

We walk for hours but he won't talk;
Boots in the snow become the only sound. At last,
A patch of pale pansies.
Miles through wildflower woods and this
Is all we find. Well done, winter.

I kneel with my basket. Silence. My breath comes
In cold clouds. Behind me, the little creak
Of his dagger leaving its sheath.
"It's all right," I say, and snap a stem.
"They're young. I don't need a knife."

Again, silence. One footstep.
Another. Metal flung to the ground.
And then he is running,
And then he is gone.

photograph by Bree


Contessa said...

You captured the horror and acceptance of the central scene of the fairy tale. Was it Rose Red, the one where the queen asks the woodsman to take the beautiful child to the woods and cut out her heart, bringing it back to the queen as proof of his deed. As I recall the woodsman substitutes the heart of an animal, sparing the girl. Thank you. I look forward to your posts.

Katie said...

Very cool! I caught my breath when he drew the knife. You captured her youthful innocence and his horror at what he had almost become.
You continually amaze me!

Kate Horowitz said...

As ever, thank you both for your generous words.

Maggie May said...


 photo copyright.jpg
envye template.