Slowly it advances ever onward
striding southward
crossing mountains, plains and seas.
Spreading forward
never stopping
relentless, creeping fingers of death
of white and cold
of ice and snow
of mist and fog.
Temur Zud, the cold one approaches
blanketing the sky
shrouding bodies
chilling bones
brittlising sap.
Life snaps away at the gentlest touches
whilst moonlight shimmers on the winter ice.
The lakes, solid to depth
giant mirrors on the barren-dry, unyielding earth
enclosed on all side by mountains white from top to toe
the herds lie dying.
The migration to the cities begins.
© Sheila Ash, 2015
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