Preparing for winter is like slowing down before the final dive into a long dark tunnel. 
Daytime is receding, northern wind is squeezing away the warmth of sunny hours, it's getting quieter.
Taking the last look at the surroundings, breathing in the fresh air, looking at the sky of incredibly deep blue, memorizing the scenery, quietly flipping the pages of passing days is all you can do.
One last step and unavoidable tunnel is swallowing all colors and sounds, it's getting darker and darker along the way. You are tempted to close your eyes and hold your breath in a desperate attempt to avoid feeling the bleakness of graying surroundings. All the energy is centered on moving in search for the light that must be somewhere ahead, who knows how long from now or even if. Darkness, wind and an illusive hope of another life cycle that is worth trying to overcome another day, week, month...
And when exhausted by the constant blindfolded motion with shades and sounds blurred into one while you are trying to pierce together the disintegrated fabric of time, a tiny flame will slowly materialize on the other side even if as a distant flicker, burning off match you will know you are getting closer.
It's not a dream, not a mirage, it's happening. 
When a dreadful fatigue is seizing  your limbs making it almost impossible to even move, memories nudge you to go on, luring you with promises of sun and warmth and color as vivid as you can only imagine. 
One more step, and another, and few more, just to see it from afar, to know it's there, to be undeniably sure. 
Venturing out for the first time like in a slow motion, blind from all the light and ambushed by all the sounds in the cool and crisp air and taking this first breath after seemingly endless night.
What a pleasure it is to sit on the curb and just breathe...


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