Autumn Snow

November is still autumn, especially in our era of climate change, where the seasons seem pushed back a month. I still have flowers blooming. And then, the first real snow arrives.

Sure, I still have leaves on most of the trees, but I get glimpses of winter architecture as snow highlights the branches and twigs. It glistens on stems, twinkles on leaves, and creates magic in the hydrangea flowers.

It quiets the riotous cacophony of flowers. We stop and hold our breath a little to listen to snowflakes on the dried foliage in the beds. Bees mutter in their cozy dens and dream of spring. The beech tree becomes incandescent in its fall finery.

We tunnel into the back of the closet for forgotten mittens and gloves. The down jackets get aired and the lap blankets come out. I contemplate the sweater collection with quiet delight.

And then it melts. And we’re back to muddy 60s and damp 50s as we dodge misty rain to stock up for Thanksgiving. But in that pause, when winter taps us on the shoulder, we have a moment of stillness and a tiny thrill of wonder that the seasons still change.