To Winter

Words and photos by Greg

We began flirting with autumn months ago, as mountain meadows wore frosted mornings, as leaves began falling toward gold. Since then, through bright days and cooling nights, the garden has faded, leaves have dropped, peaks have whitened with snow. In our valley, snow has merely brushed past leaving no lasting impression of the season turning toward winter. Until now.

For two mornings now we've woken to snow. Yesterday, barely enough to sweep from the walkways. Today, hardly more in depth, but wet enough to shovel away into small piles, enough to bring welcome moisture to the dry winter garden.

There are days left, yet, until the planet reaches the time and space when our place upon its face will turn no further away, when we'll reach the shortest of our days, when the sun will stand and then tip into winter. But now, with snow clinging to bare branches and clouds of cold grey surrounding the town, if feels like winter is here.

This snow may melt by afternoon. Tomorrow it may be bright and sunny. But today I look backward down the long golden hallway of autumn, remember our harvest, remember mountainsides covered with yellow leaves, remember bright skies with light as warm as honey and dry trails that stretched away behind us. Today I look back. Then turn the corner into winter.