Must winter come so soon?
11:05 p.m.
“It rained today. The gray sky made good on its promise and cold drops splattered the road and sidewalk. This rain chills me. It doesn’t bring with it the promise of flowers or grass growing, of ripening vegetables or fruit. This rain brings with it smells of autumn, of damp earth, mushrooms, falling leaves, leaf mould. I smell the moles in this rain, burrowing through my garden, seeking cracks in the foundation and a way into the house. This is the rain of autumn, a harbinger of snow.”
This evening as Hubby drove me to a humanities lecture at the university, the sky was, in fact, full of snow. It showed up spectacularly in the bright lights shining on the football field, but when I came out after the talk, it had stopped and there was none left on the ground.
Walking to school today I had a couple of “wow” moments. The first was as I walked down the hill and the wind blew the remaining maple and birch leaves off the trees in great gusts, so that it looked like it was raining leaves. The second was as I was crossing the river. The sky was full of Canada geese, honking loudly, several groups of them flying in their “V” formations. There were so many of them, crossing each other, changing directions, that it looked like they were writing on the sky with their patterns. There were still more water fowl in the river itself, on the sand bar.
Fall is such a spectacular season here, but it lasts such a short time. Already most of the deciduous trees are bare. The larches will be shedding their needles after first turning golden. Then the snow will fall and blanket the remaining conifers with whiteness. It’s too soon.
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