If the weather seers are correct, we’ll see some white stuff later this afternoon. Can’t complain, it’s been a stellar autumn, apart from one ridiculous snowy anomaly back in October when I penned this poem and captured the image of our backyard garden.
I don’t think today’s blast will amount to much, but the future forecast has us staying below freezing for the next while so this might be the start of winter. I’m ready for it this time. Bring on the cozy season.
The First Winter Storm of the Season pushes his way to the front, stamps down a snowy boot, and claims space. Blowhard. Lights flicker. We dig out the winter kit— batteries, candles, and such. Later, lose power, when a tree falls on a line. I take a photo of our garden, now white, and send it to friends out west. The north wind whirls until snow covers the window in my office. In filtered light, I snuggle under a blanket in my wing chair, with the dog and a book and a mug of lukewarm tea. The next day, the sun comes out, and nothing remains of the old man’s blustery, huffy display.