Blowing Into November

A photo from October 29--before the wind began to blow.

A milky fog hung about all day Wednesday, the air felt heavy and humid. By evening rain began to fall , collecting in puddles on the road.

During the night the wind picked up, blowing sharply from the north-west. When I woke--before 5--I lay still, surrounded by cats, listening to the shush of rain flung against the windows.

Darkness has lingered throughout the day,

We are warned that before midnight temperatures will drop several degrees below freezing.

Earlier in the week I brought in  geraniums and two small rosemarys, lodging them in the sun room.

I have eyed my begonias--several gangling Angel Wing types, the huge 'Beefsteak', the flowering tender begonias that have spent the summer in pots on the front patio.

Where to put so many?

The heaviest pots have been dragged into the sun-room, out of the chill wind and rain.  The smaller ones have been plonked here and there--on a stool by a downstairs window, in a crowded line-up on the Hoosier cabinet, hopefully not permanent winter quarters. 

I considered abandoning the small begonias; they can be replaced inexpensively each spring, but there they are, still blooming, capable of over-wintering to enjoy another summer, so in they came.

The lemon verbena has been lugged into the downstairs living room.  I should have pruned it during the summer.

The five year old rosemary in the big tub is still on the lower porch, wrapped in sheeting, which I hope will stay in place during the windy night.  

Several sprays of  David Austin rose Roald Dahl brought in on Monday.

The warmth of the kitchen has coaxed these into bloom.

Surely these are the last of the roses, cut this morning as cold rain stung my face and wind whipped my hair from under my hood.

The cats become fractious on rainy days.  Those with outdoor privileges insist on ducking out into the rain, then moments later are huddled on the doorstep pleading to come in; once inside they shake wet paws, head for soft places to dry out.

Clancy-the- Kitten is not allowed out.  He is fascinated by raindrops sliding down the window panes.

With my plants rescued, I made bread, wanting to share with Amish neighbors whose son has been injured in a logging accident.

The smell of baking bread and simmering potato soup defied the grey raw day.

Jim has kept a wood fire burning all day.

We went out this afternoon to make shelters for the barn cats--a heavy furniture quilt draped over the  wicker bench on the back porch; a big cat carrier lined with an old red sweatshirt; a box in the barn made cozy with a shabby blanket. 

Tomorrow we will wake to a different landscape, one a bit bleak with the increasing darkness of November.

More of the sky will be visible through nearly bare branches;  fallen leaves will lie sodden on the grass or plastered wetly against the steps and the porch floor.

Our first winter in this snug house, and all 'safely gathered in, ere the winter storms begin.'