Battleangel

Summer ended a long time ago, but the sensation lingers still. Same as every year. The bittersweet and stale autumn nights pass quickly into winter. Shrivelling what comes in its path. Entombing what remains There is indeed a smell of death in the air. A sense and physical proof that time is passing. The world turns .. and I stand here and lament the fact.

The last of September, somehow a special event for me. Usually the time when I hang up the shorts and accept the situation. Just as I do this year.
So, as to honor the occasion, I loaded up the tactical battle harness to half capacity, put on the short pants one last time, looked at the thermometer, noting +7C. And so I stepped outside into the brittle, starless night. Raging into the pitch black forest with quick paces. It is not often one feels so alive. So completely immersed in the scents and the sounds of darkness.