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Category: seasons

Strange But True

Strange But True

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It’s been in the 60s these past few days, a welcome blast of warmth that almost makes up for late December’s frigid temperatures. But it’s also a little strange, as unseasonable weather tends to be. 

The holly berries look out of place in this balmy air, as do the Christmas lights still decorating houses up and down the street. 

This time last year an unexpectedly heavy snow blanketed the region, shut down Interstate 95 and left motorists stranded overnight in their cars. Today, it’s hard to imagine that. 

But this is weather in the age of climate change. 

(A photo from last year’s snow storm.)

Flash Freeze

Flash Freeze

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At this hour the rain is still falling, not freezing, and there is even a softness to the air. But soon, perhaps within minutes, the winds will rise and the bomb cyclone will strike these parts.

The temperature will plummet, the rain will freeze, and at sunset we will be in the single digits. Roads and sidewalks will grow slick. The ground will harden. Nature will lose her diadem.

It’s winter, so we expect ice and cold, but not this much, please. A light fluffy snow would be just fine. 

Every Minute Counts

Every Minute Counts

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It’s a cold, rainy morning days away from the winter solstice. But last week I heard a radio announcer explain that, at least when it comes to sunsets, we’re already bouncing back. 

I just checked a daylight chart for Virginia … and it’s true. Starting last week we held steady with a 4:18 sunset, and last night, for the first time since midsummer, we added a minute to the evening end of the day. 

This tiny gain is still offset by the ever-later sunrises (7:51 this morning), but this time of year, every minute counts.

The Scent of Cold

The Scent of Cold

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The winter world is scrubbed clean, scoured by wind and weather to reveal pockmarked roads and blown-grass fields. It is silent, but for the drone of a distant leaf blower.

It carries with it a whiff of cold, not the metallic taste of snow but something earthier and more elemental. Perhaps it is the absence of scent — but I think not. It’s more like the presence of an aroma I’ve known since I was a child. 

Inhaling it prompts a near-involuntary physical reactions, a tensing of the muscles. Yesterday as I walked, I worked to keep my shoulders from bunching up against the chill, concentrating instead on the beauty of the afternoon. 

It worked … most of the time.

Waiting

Waiting

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A friend of mine wrote a one-act play about Advent called “Wait — It’s a Musical.” I always liked the title, the play on the word “wait.” I’m thinking of that play and that title today, on the first Sunday of the liturgical year. 

Every year the readings and sermons remind us that this is the season of watchful waiting, of calm preparation. Every year, this message must compete with tinsel and glitter and Mariah Carey belting out “All I Want for Christmas is You.” 

So I try, and somewhat succeed … for a week or two. But inevitably I’m pulled into the Christmas orbit. The shopping, the baking, the watching of holiday movies, one of which features, yes, “All I Want for Christmas is You.”

On an overcast November morning, it’s easy to feel the ancient longing, to hear the plainsong chant. But in a week or two, all bets will be off. 

A Glow from Within

A Glow from Within

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The most vivid tree in our yard is one we never planted. It’s a volunteer, little more than a weed for years and now coming fully into its own. 

Especially at this time of year, when it seems to glow from within.

The poplars and oaks are bare now, even the Kwanzan cherry has dropped its golden leaves. 

But the Japanese maple flames on…

Mornings at 7

Mornings at 7

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These are good days for morning people. 

No more darkness at 7 a.m., no more rolling over and drifting back to sleep, pretending it’s “still nighttime” even though a quick glance at the clock reveals that it most certainly is not.

The time change has given us back our precious early hours and we must decide what to do with them: a walk, a blog post, a head start on homework? All of these and more?

One thing is clear, though, and that’s the urgency to use these hours now, while we have them, because in a month or so, it will once again be dark at 7 a.m.

(Morning light illuminates a tributary of Little Difficult Run.)

Leaf on Leaf

Leaf on Leaf

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Yesterday’s walk took me on the Reston trail that loops behind the church, a lofty forest and a most beauteous sight on a warm and breezy late fall morning. 

I paused several times to snap a photo, to catch an angle of light, a leaf in its falling. 

I noticed how tumbling leaves sometimes snag and catch, land on other leaves, which cup and protect them, as if to say, we’ll keep you here another day, here on a branch and not on the ground. We’ll keep you upright, limb-bound, a creature of air not yet of earth. 

Saints and Souls

Saints and Souls

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The poet John Keats described autumn as the “season of mist and mellow fruitfulness.” But this is one of the first foggy mornings we’ve had all fall. 

It’s a lovely one, though, softening the vivid yellows of the tulip poplar leaves, making it difficult to see the houses across the backyard, let alone across the street.

Fog is atmospheric and perfect for this morning, post ghosts and goblins, the feast of all saints and the eve of all souls. 

Leaves in Balance

Leaves in Balance

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It’s warmer this morning, a beckoning kind of warmth, a come-out-and-walk-in-me warmth. I need to get up and get out in it, but first I want to write about the leaves, about how somehow, despite the three (3!) trees we lost last month there are still piles of leaves in the yard. 

I must put those leaves in perspective, though, remember the depth of them in the old days, when raking was even more daunting than it is now and my efforts were often undermined by three giggly girls jumping and playing in them. 

Now the girls are grown and the leaves are sparser, the muscles weaker, too, so perhaps it all balances out. I’d like to think it does.