Toralf Cod

WINTER PHANTOMS

—swish-swish-swish-swish—
Pale ghosts flying across the white,
Concealed by darkness, cold and quiet
Determined faces under pallid covers
—swish-swish-swish-swish—
A hundred miles still to go

No words uttered, no noise made
The deafening sound of silence is all about,
Loud screams of skis ploughing through the snow
—swish-swish-swish-swish—
Warm bodies dripping wet
Shoulders aching from heavy pack

Storm is coming,
Tired muscles begin to dig
Silence is no more, only the roar of Father Frost;
“You DARE to challenge ME?”
Screams the howling wind
But no answer will the ghosts yield, dig is all they do

In the dark womb they lie
Hear the angry storm
To rest and sleep
And then to dream
—swish-swish-swish-swish—