The time has come again, which rips from it's slumber, my unwielding consiousness.
As the leaves turn and the winds change, my thoughts swing again to the dark half of the year. This time, the time of Harvest, of the Dark Solstice, and back to the Festival of Lights, always drives into me, It's Icy Spikes.
The cold wind blows unyielding as the Earth calls back all she has wrought through the year, to her now frozen grasp. As the planet turns face from the warmth of the sun, I turn from without to within. I have come full circle yet another year. From my birth to what is sure to be my death, the months pass slowly.
The joy of new life, to the worry of loss, turns again. protection always comes at the highest of prices. Can I complete the destiny that I was called forth to do, without putting those around me at risk? Wings flap, talons gash, teeth bite, and yet my sword stands still at the ready. When is my time?
Not this year. I would know. So as Fall turns to Winter, and the world turns anew, the season drives again it's Icy Spikes, and I stand ready and waiting still.