On Friday, everything changed. All day long we were buffeted by a boisterous southwest wind - so boisterous that trees groaned, doors flapped, and the old building where I work made eerie whistling noises. Temperatures were still in the 60s, but by late afternoon they began to fall. Sometime during the night the wind veered north, shed 30+ degrees, and, without slackening speed, picked up a small burden of snow to fling over the late-autumn landscape. Saturday morning we woke to a scattering of white on the roof and the ground, and the realisation that winter is only a month off.
In some strange way, it's a relief to have the weather finally behaving as it should. The late-lingering warmth was wonderful, and we took full advantage of it, but underneath there was a sense that something wasn't quite right. This is the time of year for cosy evenings spent with yarn and a hot cuppa, for early nights under flannel sheets - for hibernation, in fact. And as much as I enjoy cycling, by November I'm ready for the season to end; warm days make me feel guilty for not being out on my bike. When the weather turns icy, the pressure is off; I can let cycling go until spring, and enjoy freezing walks instead.
Is this urge to hibernate the effect of a northern climate? I don't remember feeling like this when we lived in Southern California. But here in Wisconsin, on a sub-freezing Sunday in November, I'm ready to fall asleep as soon as the sun goes down. (Which is about 5 pm these days.)
So I'll just post a few photos here, then take a book and head off to the bedroom. I have an appointment with some flannel sheets.
November sunset walk to the park, with rose-coloured ribbons across the sky...
...and an apricot sunset behind the lake.
Breakfast tacos, starring the last of the tomatoes and homemade tortillas:
Saturday morning: snow on the garage roof...
...and the ground. But the kale is still holding out:
Saturday afternoon: a chilly walk to the park. The snow has melted, but the cold and wind are unabated. At the park entrance is a Burning Bush with Christmas lights (already!) entwined in the branches:
A patriotic display:
Leaves huddle at the edge of the pond, with wind-whipped water behind. Soon this water will be frozen-still, and the leaves encased in ice:
How's your weather? Seasonally appropriate?
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