There it began.

One small piece of an infinite puzzle,

So reluctant to change.

The cold strips it bear

And leaves it to ponder.

What is this life of mine?

So warm and bright once,

Then cold and dark the next.

This starkness causes pause,

Not from chill but of shock.

This frost causes contemplation

To cross upon my conscienceness.

This change of days, 

This shift of light.

Nothing will ever be the same in time,

Yet time will always be the same.

This season, much like time will come and go.

And I await its coming once more,

Yearning for the same thing

To come and change me again.