Barefoot in the Snow

I swing the door open
And I am walking
Barefoot in the snow.
It is a hard active thing I am seeking
Not a moment to contemplate, no
Keep moving,
Tracking forward to no clear relief
Reaching for the next best step
Focus far outward
Transcendent.

There is a beauty of sorts
That surrounds the avoidable
Even the most torturous,
But I am no way near that.
Just another quick step ahead …
And then into a sudden clearing
The sun shining brightly
A window of cold fire
An open patch
Beautiful brown
An island of refuge
Where faint warmth creates a respite,
A pause to ponder:
Is the relief from pain
Just a prelude to
More pain?