4 December: Days of Strange Weather: Journal

My camera [the one that records dates] refuses to move ahead first thing in the morning.

I sympathize! 

Color on the horizon on Thursday morning.

Sunrise at this time of year is not due east with the sun appearing around the corner of the barn.

Rather, the sun appears climbing from the corner of the ravine that bounds our property on the south.

Although the day dawned warmer than the two previous, it was still chilly to linger outside. 

I ran in and out, standing for a moment on the front steps, then dashing inside where the dregs of last evening's wood fire still warmed the room.

The sun played games all through Thursday, hiding behind swirls of grey clouds, then breaking through again.  By noon most of the lingering snow was gone, only patches of lacey crystals remaining.

The west garden, viewed through the screening of the west porch.

I was restless, wanting to be outside when the sun was shining, bundled in a velour hoodie and my old down vest, feet in boots.

I determined to examine those puzzling trees again and now think they are beech.

These are not mature beech, somewhat stunted understory trees scrambling for a roothold on the steep sides of the ravines. 

I remember the hardwood stands on my Grampa Mac's Vermont farm. A woods road ran north and south through the sugar bush of maples, with tall, stout beeches lining the track. The trees were lovely at any time of the year, a green canopy in summer, a roof of bronzed gold in autumn.  On a day of sunshine, the bright gold, dotted with the crimson of nearby maples, made a stunning pattern against the deep blue skies of early October.

On a rainy day, a different beauty--silvery trunks streaked dark with wet, the gold leaves creating an illusion of light. 

I had forgotten how a beech can hold those last few leaves, dulled to coppery brown, dry and rustling in the wind.

The nasturtiums brought into the sunroom are predictably straggling, leaves starting to yellow, but here is a cheerful flower.

I took many photos in the sunroom yesterday. I've never found the patience required to fiddle with the manual settings on my simple camera, using mostly the 'auto' feature. I deleted as many photos as I kept.

I like this one taken when the afternoon sun had moved farther to the southwest, making the petals appear translucent.

The amaryllis that had languished too long in its package has come round nicely, showing its true intended coloring.  It is a shorter plant than usual.

The paperwhites have settled into their pot, beginning to grow on the windowsill.

A frayed and frost-bitten coneflower--surely the last of the season.

Tucked under the sprawl of the buddleia, the cheerful face of a viola.

Preparing supper, I glanced through the window over the sink, astonished by the leafless branches of hedgerow trees etched in gold against the backdrop of sky that was morphing from  cloud-strewn blue to a stormy shade of indigo.

Stormy light along the north ravine.

Shadows deepening in the meadow, the sky a portent of storm.

A zoomed shot of the neighbor's barn across the lane.

Slowly the wild vivid colors faded, the sun sank below the south-west edge of the ravine; darkness came on quickly.  Within the hour a slow rain began, continuing through the night.

Today, Friday, has been dark, almost colorless outside, temperatures in the higher 40's F.

I've been out between showers--to bring in firewood, to walk up the lane to the mailbox, out with cat litter and kitchen scraps to be dumped in their respective spots.

The cats have dozed in comfortable places, the two younger ones waking to charge about in frenzied games. 

We ate, the four of us, all at different times, scavenging plates of leftovers to be warmed in the microwave. 

Jim did errands in town, the banking, a consultation with the man who is restoring a truck for him.

Howard worked alone at the house project, sanding his distinctive new staircase and applying the first coat of poly.

Dawn cleaned in the downstairs realm, drove to Tractor Supply to replenish dog food.

I attempted to sweep and dustmop upstairs, greatly hampered by Shelby-the kitten, who clung to the edge of the fuzzy mop, being towed across the floor.

A desultory day of small chores, of reading, exchanging messages with my sister; laughter this evening as Howard decided to brush the dogs and any of the cats who would cooperate.

Thus these days push us gently into winter.