Visual proof of a change of season
Everywhere you look, there are footprints. A world of shadows, each one leaving proof of passage. Once again, we have the visual cue that seasons actually change here. Gone, the greens of summer.
Actually, this is a decent way to get around raking up the leaves from our lovely linden tree. Not that I feel much pressure to do so, but with the approach of Hallowe’en there are others who have the instinctual drive to fill huge orange bags for lawn ornamentation. The first snow of the season is welcome; not much else to do, given that we have to endure for better than six months more.
The snow tires are still in the basement. All over the city, the phrase is repeated. We’re never ready for the first reminder. Time to practice skidding and sliding through stops (as opposed to simply rolling on by in a straight line). Everyone wears a self-placed crown of “excellent driver”, so the danger really does come from the other guy.
The dog is confused. She’s old enough to have been through this a few times already, but she still has to check that the lawn really is gone (along with those lasting traces of her personal passage). It’s cold enough that she doesn’t want to lay around on the porch, and there’s a chance that someone else has food inside, so…
At work, the obligatory jokes about getting snowbound. It’s never happened, but this could be the year. Global warming and all that jazz. The hall carpets haven’t been placed yet, and the boot trays are sadly lacking. Transistion time in our fair city.
