The Winter Woods

I wrote this for a creative writing class about my parent's farm.

The winter woods, which seem harmless by day
Hold horrors unheard of, unseen at night.
Whether weathered or youthful, the walk between houses
Is dreaded by bold and bashful alike.
The rhythmic rotation of shoes on the snow
Fears to drown out the onslaught of creatures unknown,
While the warm welcome shape of the neighboring cabin
Gives hope in the form of a flickering light.
I recall, as a child, how this hated trek
Would induce me to tremble against our closed door.
The thought turns my terror to brevity, briefly
As I, an adult, feel that terror once more.