Yesterday might have been just another day in paradise here, but by nightfall, the winds picked up as if making up for lost time, bringing wave upon wave of fog and folding it every which way. Or maybe it was the fog that brought the wind in its wake. I am not up on these meteorological points. The point I am making is that whatever sense of peace and gloating in our fortune of living here I had was blown away by the cold onslaught of those winds that are still going strong as I write this midday today.
All through last night, the rustling, as if the trees were rehearsing for that big play they will make come winter. The dog was terrified at times, jumping into bed, seeking some kind of reassurance that unrelenting crackle and crunch was not about to swallow her.
In the morning, when I took off, the dashboard in my car indicated that the temperature was 52 degrees Fahrenheit. It hasn’t seemed to get much higher than that, though the sun is breaking through at times, adding a bit of twinkle to the foliage in perpetual motion.