The calm of final days

The calm of final days has settled.  Snowflakes flutter aimlessly, defying gravity with their silence. It's not long now; the sails are furled, the oars are lifted and we're drifting the last few metres to shore.

I can see the rocky bottom rising quickly, the tiny fish darting through our moon-lit wake. The rudder is useless now, our final course is set.

On either side the dark cliffs rise like a cathedral. Overhead the stars are crystal points, cut sharp and deep, and all around the night is still, already cloaked in mourning.