The days dim and shorten. The winds build and sharpen.
Death is everywhere about me as trees bid farewell to leaves that sheltered and fed them and grasses brown and say adieu to the mites who played about them.
Fields dim and then burn with radiant bursts of captured sunlight reflecting back in another fond farewell to the brilliant sky above.
There is everywhere a keening and weeping as vibrant nature shudders and gasps, falters and falls to her knees.
The hardy pine and weathered holly , the cheerful cardinal alone keep me company.
It is a good book and a deep drought of sharp air that open my mind to realms beyond the tightening round of the shrinking world.
Soon enough the hoary blanket will fall again and this great circle will complete once again.
Death to death, birth to birth, and in and out again we cycle through the ever new and ever ancient panes of our small lives here on this discord-bound globe, whirling over and over from old to new and from new to old, and on again.
The exit is not yet for me, my path is not yet worn deep enough. His plans are still before me. And yet, for a time, surrounded by the death of nature I wonder. Beyond this small but too big life is a forest yet unexplored, a nature not yet discovered. There a paths not yet trod and rivers never before drunk.
But it is not for me. Not yet.
Life into death and death into life goes the circle again, and I, still on this meager sphere have paths before me still to travel.
Nature turns, the death rattle in her throat, and whispers after me as I turn away. Her words are born away by cruel wind and a bitter sun jests with the nervous clouds above.
Death into life will come around again and the frosted earth will thaw in time.
I will wait.