For the first time, I truly miss the familiar.
To fear my prime has finally reached its peak.
Is there any left?
have my strengths forsaken me?
I Shall horde the remnants to bear the cold of a long winter's storm.
Storing up, stacking high all my hopes to rough the impossible feat ahead of me.
As a beaver makes his damn, so do I prepare my chamber.
And there I rest, unaware of the first sign of Spring.