The old Vermont sun shone low in the western sky, wringing itself dry of the last drops of heat for the year, my back reaching for all the warmth it can catch. I tip my head up from its downward shell I created with the brim of my red white and blue hat in an effort to escape my face from the wind. My eyes focus towards the wind whipped trees up ahead; their branches look exhausted as they cling onto the last of the elder leaves. As I widen my vision to a towering landscape, I fail to hold back my surprise at the sight of snow-capped mountains.

Like an evil kingdom atop a large hill, the upcoming winter lurks in the dull grey fog; striking fear in the world beneath it. The snow is the ominous army marching away from the empire; slowly yet surely. Without warning, a great gust catches the brim of my hat, throwing it backwards into oblivion. Winter is nearing me. Cold dark days lie ahead once again.