Last night

[lsanderson]

Last night, winter reached out and smothered autumn. It was a quick death. It wasn't unexpected, but the first killing frost had just arrived a week or so ago. I'd hoped that autumn would linger longer in its death bed. But, no, it was not to be, and today the world is white and ice. The wind, grown wicked, swirls about and rattles the windows. The window over the stairs, whose storm window still sits in the basement waiting a second coating of paint, sweats profusely, condensing moisture out of the inside air. My head, the hair freshly cut, feels every draft, both real and imagined. The long, British, electric heater set quite low, clicks on and off in front of the office window whose storm has never fit. Catalpa leaves, which still somewhat lingered on the two trees, lie covered on both the front and back of the house. Three bags of raked leaves still sit in back, where the last leaves were supposed to join them. (Last pickup is bright and early tomorrow, and I'm not going to drag them out from under the thin layer of snow and ice.)