First days of what feels like winter, but what isn’t quite yet
The ominous march into deeper darkness
My body is confused by the absence of light, the absence of warmth, of joy
The dimming of life.
There is no birdsong.
The sun rises too late and sets too early.
Never before have I been so acutely aware of the turning of the earth upon itself and the sun
The warm-blooded animals hibernate, migrate, always seeking warmth, chasing sunshine.
Why do we stay?
Birdsong and Sunrise 
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