The colder weather is encroaching,
Surrounding us more and more with each night,
Retreating less and less with the fading daylight.
Chilled breezes bring the passing scent of juniper smoke and sterility,
Reminding us of what we’ve endured to get here,
And warning us of the cost of tomorrow.
My entire life has been a balancing act,
Desperately clinging to the pendulum of my circadian rythms,
Synchronized to a seasonal metronome,
Bracketing out present concerns for further review,
When my paradigm had osscillated back and forth,
So as to avoid any mistake of permanence.
I used to live for these darker months,
Where solitude isn’t as shunned,
And silence can be found without searching,
But something has changed within me that scares the child in me,
Who has been frozen in time for half his life,
Locked away from the humid heat of the Sun,
Only returning when the nights are long enough,
To tip the balance sheet in their favor:
He’s been so quiet that I can’t hear myself think.
If you see him,
Walking through the frozen earth alone,
Without leaving any footsteps to trace back,
He’ll be wearing a solemn mask,
But trust me when I say,
He cannot be but to be unhappy.
Let him go.