A couple of evenings ago, snow flew at ninety-one sixty, leaving barely a dusting on the grass. Barely worth the notation, other than to say it was the first snow and a harbinger of things to come. I made chili.
The next day was warm with a breeze. That wacky Colorado weather-wait five minutes. I could've worn shorts. So it goes.
It's been a slow turn toward autumn. The aspens are just now getting underway. Maybe they'll peak this week. Perhaps next. I don't pretend to know. The days are still warm enough, and the nights, whilst cooler, have not dipped into the bite of a hard frost just yet. We can still grill, which is the dinner scheme for the evening.
Slow though it is, I can sense the seasonal wheel turning. My tea consumption goes up as it gets cooler. The day is probably not long in coming when there is a snow, Himalayan in its countenance, of which I'll be brewing lapsang souchong to be in context. There'll be magic then too; when the world sheds its skin between green and snow-covered, it becomes a different landscape of white from year to year. You can bet I'll be out exploring. As the hip kids on the street would say; that's just how I roll.