An impending hover of dread, confirmed whilst most lay in their warm beds.
Heralds the beginning of a new season.
Swooping low enough to see, yet not feel the cold touch of unknown reason.
Whilst the birds sing sweetly unbeknownst, against the back drop of tears, filling the silty waters with further years.
Life goes on for most, unless draped in rubber tasked to recover, an unfortunate skill, knowing where this river will spill.
Meandering personality, traits, thoughts and movements.
A permanent solution.