Last month was full-bore autumn. Bright trees. Yellow, orange, scarlet, bronze. And yet … and yet …
For the past few days, the leaves have been coming off the trees in a storm.
The ground is covered with oak, maple, sassafras, birch. More than ankle-deep.
The macadam is slippery with leaves. It’s almost like ice. Before there is real ice, we have to clear the driveway and backyard. Winter is close.
Not here, not yet. It’s still warm inside and outside. So warm I turned the heat off. November it may be, but it’s short-sleeved and shorts weather.
Tomorrow, it’s supposed to drop down … into the fifties. Maybe low sixties.
For November in New England, this is not cold. Barely cool.
Maybe winter will just take a pass this year and not show up at the party. I could live with that.