Fall has set.
Come to pass are the barren branches of winter trimmed in frost and the gray light of a shallow sun.
The best days are gone – though with fortune some remain far ahead.
We are threadbare. The months and years have been hard. The cold is less inviting and the wanderlust, while not subdued, is somewhat satiated.
Beneath the sage and the basalt, the earth itself seems to slumber.
The lean time of the year has come and the urgency is gone out of us.
For the first time in a while, the end is not only a thing to be looked on with sadness.
Maybe part of what makes the thing so special is the long break in which we cannot participate in the chase, but are relegated to yearn.
In the sparseness of the final weeks, like the leaves of the coverts, we have been slowly stripped the of need to stretch.
Let it snow. Let the wind howl and the cold deepen.
The land rests, and so shall we.
Mouthful of Feathers 
Well said. Lots of truth in there.
But up here in the North the land has been resting for 2 and a half months, and I’m yearning for spring.
After you are done resting you can come over and shovel my driveway.
Haha…I spent way too much time last week doing that, and it looks like we have more on the way…
Love the sentiment as we try to trick ourselves into believing, but in the immortal words of countless folks; Screw That!
The dog thinks rest is surrender and I am inclined to agree. The look of betrayal as we watch a perfectly pointed (sort of) rooster fly without a shot is too much for me to bare. I’ve seen it before from the Mrs…
I want more and am in a strong bend toward popping the weather boy right in the jibs!