Billowing clouds
White Curls
Envelope their faces
From nostrils flared
With effort
Stalking forward
Cautious yet pruposeful
Treading with dread
The fall
The trip
The step into air
That is not solid.
They fill the air
Advancing onward
Muffled and swaddled
In wool and fleece
Their breath spirals
Into the air
Cutting its chill
Breaking the stillness
With presence.
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