One forgets winter, sometimes, by the end of a long summer.
And so it was yesterday that we set out in the afternoon to take a drive, and some photos.
I wore a hooded pea coat over my jeans and sweater, but left the gloves behind on the counter. It was sunny, after all!
And it had reached the lower 40s by afternoon after a long, slow climb up from night time 20s.
It wasn’t until I climbed out, camera in hand, at the parking area across from the beach path that I felt the full force of the wind blowing across the river.
So I pulled up the hood, fastened an extra button, and headed towards the beach, leaving my wiser partner in the shelter of the car.
The wind whipped at my hood and drove icy needles through my fingers as it rattled the grasses along the path.
The entire landscape danced to the lively jig of this frigid November wind.
We knew that only a few hundred miles to the north this same wind whipped feet of snow across highways and neighborhoods; whole cities silenced under a blanket of arctic white.
And low, dense clouds were forming over us. I wondered whether we might see Bay effect snow by nightfall.
I’m not sure what I was hoping to find, yesterday afternoon.
Not a single bird appeared. Not an insect buzzed; not a single squirrel scampered in search of food.
It was eerily silent except for the wind.
Waves lapped against the pale clean sand of the beach.
Summer’s litter had blown well back into the grass line.
Everything looked scrubbed clean by the wind, bleached by the cold, and faded to brown and grey and palest green.
There came a point when my fingers were nearly numb, and shivering, and the wind kept finding its way ever closer to my bones.
Time to turn back to the shelter of our car.
We would continue on our way, together, on heated seats with windows rolled up tightly.
Time to remember winter, and pick up the habits of warmth once more.
Time for thick scarves, woolen socks, lined gloves, and pots of soup simmering on the stove at home.
Photos by Woodland Gnome 2014