sand castles melt into the sea
and the jester fronts himself
a merry sort of raillery
his smiling face melts
into that of a flower
everything is a bower.
all is full of love
but dawn breaks over it all

everything is sweet here. the smell is that of musty, damp earth with mouldering leaves and blades of grass that drip slowly. it's very still. the fog is here frequently. it's like a companion in this cold but snowless scene. it's a very easy phenomenon to identify with. it's never really clear where it begins or ends, what is the best part of it, when it will choose to move on, when it will be a bane or where it will be a close friend in dark times. being north is a bit wierd, the days are short now and the nights are cold. this hour is getting old and it's been dark a long time. i'm coming to the realization, somewhat painful, that my time here is severely numbered. i'm seriously entertaining the idea of not coming back like i haven't before. it was always something in the back of my mind but now it's in the front. more later, i'm going to go enjoy myself.