Dear Fall, I miss you.

Where have you gone? Just a few weeks ago I was running through Interlaken park absorbed in a rhythmic swirl of gold, umber, and wine red leaves. My whole body could feel the changing and turning and knew that there was beauty hidden in the core of the leaf-less tree. I could feel my own branches extending upward, barren into the crisp blue sky. If I paused and breathed deeply, my insides could tell that this stripping away was essential for whatever is to come next.

But now all I can feel is my nakedness.
It's winter. The snow blankets the streets, and ice has hardened on the sidewalks like thick shields over the earth. I want to brush it all away, to smell and feel some dirt under my fingernails. I want to break through the winter crust of snow and dig up evidence of something growing underground- but it is not time for such things.
It is a time for laying fallow. For things to be dormant. To wait patiently.

Oh, advent. The waiting might kill me this year.