On a cool, crisp, and frosty Autumn night
under the bright sailor's moon the idea
of rugged adventure burns all other thoughts
from my spinning mind.
The shimmering visage of Hemingway's ghost
suddenly appears before my shivering form,
and quietly bids me to follow
in his wayward footsteps.
So, with great expectation I take a step
back in time, skittishly walk through
the ethereal mists, and begin the long, perilous
journey into the murky darkness of the unknown.
Donavon Scott Vinson