Winter is coming, and I can’t help but feel a little dread.
Autumn is nice, though, this time of year, I tend to lose myself; changing with the colors of the trees, losing my leaves and becoming empty.
If only that last bit were completely true.
I love people. Everybody. I love them, I think, as a stamp collector loves his collection. Every story, every incident, every bit of conversation is raw material for me.
Winter is coming, and I can’t help but feel a little dread.
Autumn is nice, though, this time of year, I tend to lose myself; changing with the colors of the trees, losing my leaves and becoming empty.
If only that last bit were completely true.
The hunter becomes the prey; I who grew stronger in the warm months now hide in the shadows. The predators which ignore their call to sleep are the ones to be feared in these times. l