The weather watchers had predicted frost for this morning, so yesterday afternoon we brought our few vulnerable plants inside. But as dawn comes over the hill, from the perspective of my deskside window, I don't see any evidence of a silver-white glaze on the grass. Of course that could still occur should we drop another degree or so before actual sunrise. Fog along the river—which was only a slight wispiness a minute or two ago—is, however, becoming noticeably thicker.
* * *
Okay. I've just stepped outside for quick reconnoiter, to make sure I was seeing what I thought I was seeing…or in this case, not seeing. And I was right: no frost. But plenty cold. Too cold to remain out long in only a short-sleeves teeshirt and no jacket. I made a quick upriver snap, then hustled back inside. As you can see, there's still not a lot of color, other than an increase in the rusty yellows and jaundiced browns—which is the usual autumnal dress for the leaning sycamores which dominate the riverbanks. Other than a spiraling scarlet flame of high-vining Virginia creeper, there's generally not much red to be seen here along the stream. For dominate reds, you have to go uphill, up the road, where there are maples and sassafras and sweetgums.
But fall is definitely here. We had our first hearthfire of the season yesterday evening—and it felt good. Time moves steadily along…
10 comments:
HI GRIZZ - beautiful morning image of past, present and future as the seasons change on your river remind you, and me and all your readers of the cycle of life. I love that you had a hearth fire - we will miss our ole wood stove once we move - the warmth and aroma and glow are priceless and forever etched in our hearts and minds and life here on the Trail.
Enjoy the cooler Autumn mornings and ever-changing colors.
Love Gail
peace....
Only got down to 40 here last night in the Mid-Atlantic Piedmont, but I could see my breath when I went out (in sweatpants and a sweatshirt) to get the newspaper this morning.
Time moves steadily along indeed Grizz. My thermal vest came out of the drawer this morning.
Gail…
Yesterday was cloudy and cool, and Myladylove wasn't feeling too well (she's been on her third round of antibiotics for an upper-respiratory infection and inner-ear issues) so we just did some stuff indoors—and that hearthfire was most welcome and enjoyed. And I agree, there's nothing better than wood heat, whether by stove or open hearth. I'm sure you'll miss yours.
Scott…
It was 34˚F here when I wrote the post and dashed out, seriously underdressed, to make the pix. Which—and I almost said something about it the post—you'll have noted was another of those upstream views…again, because the light and scene and amount of fog over the water just made for a better image than if shot downstream. My apologies.
Weaver…
It's time for me to box up the shorts and flip flops, and exchange them for the box in the attic containing the warm shirts and medium jackets. That indicating marker for necessary comfort seems to have now passed.
I think if I could wake up to this, my heart would be healed. Thanks for the photo.
Robin…
Yes, I'm quite sure it's truly good medicine…
In the 50's here this morning. Nice. Crisp. I love this transition... only wish it lasted longer. Just happy to be healthy, alive and witness to it all again. :c)
Jayne…
It was 37˚ here this morning when I got up…only 58˚ now, with a stiff wind, belying the brilliant sun and clear blue sky. Still, so far as I'm concerned, it beats the heat of summer. Spring and fall never last long enough for me—and some years it seems the transition is over almost before you know it. But you called it right—health, happiness, friends and family to share it with, and just being able to witness another passage through the seasons is what really matters.
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