He could feel it in the air. Heck, he could even taste it. That familiar ache that travelled around bones like a trapped nerve, persisting and pulsing. An ache that ascended during the day with a nag and a tug. As everything around him began to wilt he could feel himself doing the same.
A welcoming embrace of dried leaves and morning dew greets him, telling stories he would rather not hear. A reminder that would continue to bore into him each and every year to break down the defence built up with the fear of its inevitable return. Despite his efforts he could feel it crumbling like the leaves beneath his feet. He knows that morning dew will eventually seep its way in, submerging his hard work in the cold waters that the winds brought as gifts.
“Welcome back old friend,” he breathes. “I missed you.”