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Muted Palette

Muted Palette

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An early walk today amidst a muted palette of autumn color. The pink of the sunrise sky set off the glow of those leaves that still cling to their branches. The air was mild with a feeling of warmth and moisture. A flock of birds passed overhead.

We are heading for a monochromatic world, I know that. Already more limbs are bare than leafed. But it was hard not to revel in the beauty of the moment, not to get from it an optimism about things in general.

The kwanzan cherry tree, which was slower to change and has held its color longer than most, is finally shedding leaves at a frantic pace. But it’s all to prepare for next spring when it will send forth its big-fisted blossoms in a riot of pink.

Yes, there is winter to get through in the meantime. But today, or at least this morning, it was easy to forget about that.

Standing their Ground

Standing their Ground

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At first I worried that something was wrong with the crepe myrtle trees. Their leaves shriveled quickly, as if caught so suddenly by the cold that they didn’t have time to turn, loosen and gently fall to earth.

Then I noticed other trees, other species, with the same condition. This isn’t a disease. This is the crazy Arctic air that’s come south to taunt us.

These trees were minding their own business, heading gently through the season. They were captured still green and growing, led into winter with handcuffs on. At least they put up a fight.

Because yes, it’s reasonable to accept the seasons in one’s climate, place and lifetime. But sometimes it’s necessary to say no, this won’t stand. To cling to what is ours.

Snowflake Spotting

Snowflake Spotting

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Snowflakes were spotted yesterday, and the temperature never rose about the “high” of 37 that greeted me when I woke up. It’s Arctic air, the weather people said, and I wonder: Does Arctic air feel colder than plain old winter air?

Today I’d have to say yes. That may be because it was 15 degrees when I woke up and there’s a stiff breeze out there, too. Emerging from the Crystal City Underground felt like a slap in the face. Even just a few hundred feet of exposure was enough to send me shivering inside.

But the sun is bright and a big old moon was still up this morning when I walked Copper across the frost-stiffened grass. We’re moving closer to solstice, so ’tis the season for shivering. Which is just what I’m doing now.

(Caution: Snowflakes in the window may be smaller — and less real — than they appear.)

Smell of Burning Leaves

Smell of Burning Leaves

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Yesterday’s walk through the fading light of a late fall afternoon reminded me of what has been missing from the season. I caught a whiff of it when I rounded the corner. It was that autumn elixir — the smell of burning leaves.

Its source was unknown — and even if it wasn’t, I would protect its identity, since the practice must surely be illegal. In fact, I hesitate to mention it at all with California burning.

But neither illegality nor political incorrectness can erase the fact that I love this scent, that it fills me with both poignance and peace, an unlikely pairing that takes me right back to childhood.

I would have been playing all day in that scent, would have been jumping in those leaves, in big crisp piles of them before they were set to smolder. And soon I would be walking back into my mother’s kitchen, not my own. And it was the promise of that warmth and closeness that contrasted so perfectly with the lonely fragrance of ash and oak.

This, along with the scent of tobacco wafting from the big auction houses on the west end of town,  were the “smell-scapes” of my Kentucky childhood.  I don’t smell either of them anymore.  But they’re there. All it takes is the whiff of burning leaves to bring them back.

Cold Air

Cold Air

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It feels acrid in the nostrils and chilling to the bone. It’s the frigid air that has moved in and seemingly settled here.

Shivering on a short walk with Copper yesterday, I pondered how long it is till next summer, telling myself I have to do better. And, very shortly afterward, I did. I went for my own walk and, because it was brisker, the ole bod heated up, the everyday miracle of pumping blood.

And it was while on that walk that I thought about how cold air differs from warm, the way it smells — or doesn’t.  The way it tingles in the fingers and takes away the breath.

Soon I’ll grow used to it, but these first few days it’s an alien creature, something I welcome only cautiously back into my life.

Charged by Change

Charged by Change

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Night before last, our temperature dropped 40 degrees in a few hours. This morning it was 25 degrees when I woke up. Winter blew in right on time for the first winter month and the big light change this weekend.

I went out for a walk with three layers on … and it wasn’t enough. Time to break out the down jacket and turn on the heat, which has been off since April.

Though in the depths of winter I might fantasize about living in a place where it’s always warm, I never get too far. As much as I grumble about the cold, I like seasonal change, am charged up by it.

So today, on the coldest morning of the season, I will try to concentrate on the difference … and not the deficit.

Inner Light

Inner Light

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It’s cloudy and warmish,  a still day made for long walks in the gathering leaves. I won’t have time for such a thing, but it’s nice to dream about it on my short strolls with Copper.

Say what you will about autumn color set off by blue skies, but when it’s gray outside the bright trees seem to glow from within. It’s as if the stored goodness of all those days in the sun are giving something back to us now — something that says, yes, we will fall and crinkle and be trod underfoot; yes, our whitened trunks will be revealed and cold winds will blow — but beyond it is all this radiance.

That’s what it seems like on cloudy days in October when birds are still singing and squirrels scamper to store food and summer annuals cling to life in pots on the deck.

We’ll see how it feels in a few weeks…

Golden Glow

Golden Glow

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I walked downstairs yesterday and was enveloped in a golden glow. It was the witch hazel tree, that stalwart of the garden, earliest to bloom and gracious in its un-leafing.

Perhaps because I’m sauntering through the season with our little doggie, I’m noticing the autumn colors more this year. The oak at the end of the street is at its most fetching, an almost neon orange set off by the green still left on the tree. I have a favorite view of it, which is from the meadow where it’s framed by bare branches.

Elsewhere in the neighborhood there are russets and roses and burning bushes bursting by the roadside. Northern Virginia has never been a fall wonderland — we have our springs, after all — but for a week or two we sport a kind of mellow beauty that speaks of the serenity this season can hold.

True Foods?

True Foods?

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It happens reliably, when the first nip of fall is in the air. And it’s been happening reliably for decades, back to when I lived in Chicago and even in New York City. When the temperature drops, out come the recipe books, the cutting boards, and the pots and pans.

Salads, my go-to meal of choice, don’t appeal when the temperature plummets. This year, thanks to a recent meal at True Foods Kitchen, I’m looking for ways to recreate some of those scrumptious dishes: ancient grain bowls and roasted cauliflower with dates and pistachios.

Lately I feel like I’ve been suspended between the food of my youth, baked chicken and spaghetti and other plain fare, and some new cuisine in the making, some other way to eat, which is more plant- and grain-based, though not without the occasional bit of chicken or beef or fish.

I don’t have a lot of time for cooking, so that makes it difficult to prepare the sort of recipes I’ve just been reading. But maybe I’ll tackle a couple anyway. After all, the light is low and nights are dipping into the 30s.

It’s time.

Suddenly Cool

Suddenly Cool

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It was 37 last night here. I’m tempted to research highs and lows to learn just how long ago it was since we had such a temperature. Back to April, I imagine.

In honor of the brisk air, I’m back in black running tights and sweatshirt — and am wishing for socks that came up farther than my ankles.  Seasonal change may finally be upon us.

I’m no fan of cold weather, but once it’s here, I remember why we need it: to kick the fall foliage into high gear, to energize us — and, more than anything else, to provide variety.

It feels good to pull on tights — not just because they are warm, but because they are different.