The air seems oddly angry at the stir in passage. The settling darkness fills the street as lamp posts barely break through the mist. I feel a certain pull toward the empty shades of night, the unknown aspects of false certainty. Now and then the slightest sliver of a sound is heard, it breaks the bondage of this deceitful place, unleashes fitful nightmares that rip you from grace.
In an unceremonious encounter I’m dragged from mist to night from still to chaos, and ever more the dread grows near. Eyes surround me like jewels from the pit of hell itself, wolves crying for hunger, serpents sensing the pray, all in this shadowy solitude, where no man dare walk. They all smell the air, sniffing the meal yet to come. The howl cracks through the air like a whip against the skin, longing growls that turn blood to ice rip flesh from bone, strength from courage. But in the midst of all this a figure stands up from the blackened earth, a tall mass of wonder adjusts his stance and starts to stroll, through this graveyard this attic of despair, he has no fibre of fear, no silhouette of dread, his pale form breaks glaciers of night, his solid heart walks holes in the darkness.
And as he sets the path for others to follow, he smiles and winks death in the face, flirting with the reaper he has no bone that worries, no soul that trembles. His instincts show him the way, his grace amidst hate lights up the road, all who need a guide just step behind, this bear won’t stop, won’t falter won’t fade, till all is light all is white, like the winter land, that cold loving embrace.