Fright of a lifetime.

The drained, drooping, sighing sun,

whispered a weary good luck

as she headed for the western exit.

Leaving a silent symphony of glittering flakes

gliding gently,

apologetically smothering the land in a fleece

of chilled applause.

Our aged wheezing bus,

"that had circumnavigated the earth

many times,

but never seen a single wonder,

rasping to town,rattling through village every hour

on the hour"

refused to challenge the shrouded hill

throwing in the oily rag.

Stranded,

with two, white, wet, moaning miles to tred.

The road, or, the prodigious , ample acre paddock,

with no diliberation and less thought

we headed the fun rout,

bumpy,pot holed ridden, hidden stumbles,

fun rout.

Led by plumes of steaming breath

we straddle the horse proof fence.

Stretching distance from the lit road,

the bus lay beyond the flurry,

like some knocked out battle machine.

There is no white of snow,

only black,

black as voodoo villainy,

we trudge along, lumbering intrepidly on.

I feel through my frozen feet

a tremulous rumbling of beats,

our steps are wayward with hazard

all peril sharpened by fear.

Perplexed we stop,

for Mother is also aware,

we turn our heads to listen hard,

beyond our normal sphere.

We stand our ground,

to follow a thundering, thumping sound.

Almost hugging,

as natures impulse might,

in pain we strain,

into the blackened night.

It passes to our left and rear,

we gather up all shopping bags

to sprint like startled deer.

The second time we climb a fence

to shiver up the garden path,

stumbling into kitchen light

red faced and much relieved.

Removing squelchy sodden boot

I tell my Father of our rout,

he then revealed,

how,

in that field,

they'd let ten horses roam.