It's October. At least I think it is until I look outside. Then it might as well be December or January. Or February, March or April. Yes, I live in a place where winter can grip hard. But usually not this early.
When I looked out the window just after noon today snow was falling lightly. The large, fat flakes drifted lazily and looked lovely. An hour later, I was no longer enjoying the view: swirls of thick snow fell in angry heaps over my drooping, brown landscaping. The temperature tonight is supposed to be in the teens. Did I mention it's still October?
So I admit it, I like the idea of winter more than the actuality of it. I'm not ready to pull out the flannel sheets and buy another cord of wood. But apparently Mother Nature has other ideas.