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| Zermatt, Switzerland |
Do you dread winter's arrival? If so, you probably wish today would last forever.
I stepped outside this morning just as the sun came up expecting to feel a chill in the air and a gusty wind in my face. Instead, the day dawned quiet and bright. The sky a deep, clear blue. The remaining foliage bright red and gold. The sun warm and welcoming.
Not a cloud in the sky. Not a breeze.
Not a dog barking in the distance or a plane rumbling overhead. It was silent and still outside. Even the birds--usually so chatty in the morning--seemed to respect Mother Nature's need for a little peace and quiet. This, ahead of a cold front that is working its way in our direction, bringing with it the gusty winds and falling temperatures that will get us thinking ahead to winter.
With that in mind, here is a short passage from my novel, "The Bandaged Place", that describes the change of seasons:
"November takes me by surprise. I should have seen it coming. Like incense over the altar, wood smoke hangs heavy in the air.
There are pumpkins on every porch—Smiley, Goofy, Grumpy, Spooky—so that Middleburg takes on a personality of its own. This is one of those powder puff mornings when the rising sun causes everything to blush. The air is so still that the chimney smoke reaches straight up into the soft pink haze that clings to the treetops. Instead of dew, we awaken to the glitter of frost on the grass, to ice on the windshield, to breath that crystallizes in mid-air. I can tell that snow is on the way. I know it as surely as I know the smell of honeysuckle in May, of fresh cut grass in July, and burning leaves in October.
There are pumpkins on every porch—Smiley, Goofy, Grumpy, Spooky—so that Middleburg takes on a personality of its own. This is one of those powder puff mornings when the rising sun causes everything to blush. The air is so still that the chimney smoke reaches straight up into the soft pink haze that clings to the treetops. Instead of dew, we awaken to the glitter of frost on the grass, to ice on the windshield, to breath that crystallizes in mid-air. I can tell that snow is on the way. I know it as surely as I know the smell of honeysuckle in May, of fresh cut grass in July, and burning leaves in October.
Summer has surrendered to autumn. Sightseers choke the mountain roads by day and jam the restaurants and bars at night. But these are fair-weather fans. They may extol the glories of blazing foliage and crisp, clean air but they’ll be sure to head home before snow flies, before Mother Nature packs up her palette and heads south leaving behind the soft soothing shades of oatmeal and brown sugar, of seashells and sand, of bone.
Before the sun pales and the sky turns to lead. Before the wind shifts and whistles unchecked through the bare branches, tossing fallen leaves around like the snow that is sure to follow."
Try to enjoy the change of seasons.
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"I prefer winter and fall,
when you feel the bone structure of the landscape.
Something waits beneath it.
The whole story doesn't show."
~Andrew Wyeth~
*
I'm with Andrew. What about you?
jan
