In a forest of still air.
Drifting among barren trees.
All is quiet. Except for the sound of
feet upon muddied leaves.
Shadows cast below blackened clouds.
Slivers of sunlight fading between
looming branches. The memory
of forgotten dreams lost deep in the dark; hidden, unseen.
The windows tremble.
From clamoring trains, felt in the distance.
The walls groan.
From the weight of our repentance.
Vacant pews crowded with whispers of
unanswered prayers. Haunting echoes of rural sacraments.
Forgotten souls lured into this purgatory.
Victims of the heartland’s malevolence.
Abandoned remains of decaying buildings. Murky evenings
lit by late night diners and flickering porch lights.
Muted whispers from familiar silhouettes.
Exchanges of rumors bred from spite.
Driving along roads shrouded in ice.
Passing perpetual fields of corn frosted over.
Clouds of disrupted snow billow from under our tires.
As the still air grows colder--
Katie Sand is a Psychology major and Creative Writing minor in her senior year. Despite her major, she'd like you to know she definitely can't read minds. After college, she’d like to travel the world and continue writing and learning. In her free time, you can find her reading, writing, and daydreaming. She'd like to thank her family, friends, and professors for their encouragement and always supporting her writing.