Cold, is the report. Walked out the door this morning and felt an icy wind, got no warmth from the sun, though it was bright. Fall may come and go a couple more times; that happens around here (and will go on until climate change destroys us). But when it comes back now it’ll be a visitor. Winter has moved in and taken over the lease. Tan leaves dropping from some trees, gold ones from others; on a pine that suffered in last year’s hurricane, tiny icicles hanging from the needles at the ends of the lower branches. That tree might not make it. Sharp waves on restless water. Bright blue sky, sun lower with every morning, not making it to my bench anymore. Migration’s pretty much over, which means the mallard, Gadwall, and black duck pairs seen swimming around here are intending to stay. Canada geese have gone, and Brants have arrived. Waiting for the buffleheads, who come around mid-December. Jogger and dog-walker traffic by the river has thinned way out, leaving the place to the diehards and hardheads, like me.
Categories: Journal /
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