In the cold nights of fall, though not nearly as frigid as winter here, I see him outside my window. I wonder how long he has been waiting there, with blood shot eyes, a serpents tongue, and these claws which each year seem to be sharper, longer, deadlier. He waits so long to see me, he tries so patiently to claw his way in to my room each night. I hide myself under my blanket, as if he is the boogie man out to get me, as if I am five years old again and all I have to do to be rid of my problems is hide under my beloved blankets. I know what he is now though, and why he only comes at this time of year. I do not greet him with welcome arms, only because he still is such a terrifying creature, but I guess I was too.