Cyclical Destiny 

The turning of the seasons eases my weary spirit. The sharpening wind pierces through an overgrown pelt, widening eyes and tensing body as it breaches past the fabric of my coat. Rejuvenating my aim on the target not yet known to me but nonetheless still keeps a lingering presence. 
Gone are days of strain and sweat. The hours which force thoughts and plans to make concessions to assure sanity’s moan is squelched to but a whimper. 
A wait and wanting for the dew, and with her brother, the chill, casting clarity in both the stillness as well as the motion. Quaint breath barely disrupted the stagnant resistance that had shrouded our entirety. 
A revolutions decent recalls her greener pastures. Hunker down your most sentimental gems, cradle them with a trusted embrace. Stoked to life a hissing flame who’s shimmering dance comforts the seasoned just as the green. 
Pour deep yourself a cider while the body thaws from the biting whispers atop the tussled pines. Burrow till the stance seats firm and peer beyond the stretching of dawns revisits and of dusks tranquil dreams.

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