North Country "Autumn"

The high point of the day thus far has been getting briefly caught in a snow squall for about five to ten minutes while off doing errands this morning. The same thing happened about a year ago and in approximately the same place. We were on our way to Cambridge to hit the credit union, one of our favorite book stores (Scout and Morgan), the food co-op, and a big box store. There was no accumulation, but the air was full of flakes for a little while. All morning the wind's been howling, the weather's reminiscent of the second verse in Dylan's wonderful Girl from the North Country.

Well, if you go when the snowflakes storm
When the rivers freeze and summer ends
Please see if she’s wearing a coat so warm
To keep her from the howlin’ winds

snow covered pine, mid-October last year

Photo by J. Harrington

I suspect it will be a few weeks before the rivers freeze, but from today's weather and the extended forecast, Summer has ended. Will we actually enjoy any Indian Summer this year? It's possible, but first we have to get through the hard freeze forecast for tonight.

local leaf color would be enhanced by sunlight

Photo by J. Harrington

Leaf colors have really come on strong the past few days. We're now easily at a 50% to 75% peak color, although the black cherry trees haven't yet turned flame orange. Maybe next week? Meanwhile, Yr. Obt. Svt. must make some time to sort through the pumpkin carving tools his Better Half has provided to him and pick two templates for carving Jack-O-Lanterns later this month. For the past five+ years the Daughter Person and Son-In-Law have done those honors. This year they're doing their own carving for their new (to them) house I believe. Successful carving by yours truly will put me into something like a fifth or sixth childhood. Perhaps this time the magnificent sense of awe that children often have will return.

Early October Snow

By Robert Haight

It will not stay. 

But this morning we wake to pale muslin 

stretched across the grass. 

The pumpkins, still in the fields, are planets 

shrouded by clouds. 

The Weber wears a dunce cap 

and sits in the corner by the garage 

where asters wrap scarves 

around their necks to warm their blooms. 

The leaves, still soldered to their branches 

by a frozen drop of dew, splash 

apple and pear paint along the roadsides. 

It seems we have glanced out a window 

into the near future, mid-December, say, 

the black and white photo of winter 

carefully laid over the present autumn, 

like a morning we pause at the mirror 

inspecting the single strand of hair 

that overnight has turned to snow.

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