A White Thanksgiving?
I looked up from my computer just now, where I am listening to an audiobook, to observe the lingering twilight of sunset, and the foliage of the close-in suburbs below. The evergreen trees are sporting a dark, subdued green hue in their needles. The deciduous trees are mostly bare after a recent windstorm, the last leaves hanging precariously, before they too shall float softly to the ground. It’s a dingy mishmash of oranges and browns now, for the most part, the majority of branches bare and stark against the grey cover of clouds above.
My view from the balcony affords me a panorama of both downtown and the hills on the other side of the river, hills that grow larger and become mountains far off in the distance. The hills are a mixture of gray and dull green, pockets of orange and brown where individual and groves of the leafy trees stand amidst their conifer cousins. A swath of fog rests here and there, as if the cloud layer is laden with not only moisture, but a somber, dim mood, hugging near the ground in comfort.
I am most surprised to see a snowline on the farthest hills that are visible from here today. I cannot say for certain what the end of December will bring, weatherwise, but it is certainly bitterly cold enough already to ensure at least a frosty Thanksgiving. I’ve been rather cheering for solid white precipitation in coming days, happy that we have a small cache of food, happy that I have a pair of boots that afford me a firm and dry purchase upon the covered ground, and happy that the druid, and the houseguest, are here, so that I may not spend another snow-in as I had the previous year, yearning to see the druid when the snow melted enough for the busses to run again, and trying to amuse myself with the internet.
I am growing thankful for the company, the closer it gets to the close of the year. The family I had enjoyed previous holidays with, has moved away. I had been sad in recent days that I would not enjoy their company and a shared meal with them. But I have a bit more of a family myself this year, and reflecting upon that, I am heartened, and happy to see the coming celebrations arrive.
In the time it has taken me to type this, the sun, setting somewhere above all these thick rain-laden clouds, is near to setting. It’s now almost too dark to see the keyboard save for the glow of the monitor. The dim colors of the hills outside grow grayer, now illuminated only as if a crisp, full moon had taken up residence in a cloudless, starry night sky. Well, perhaps a little brighter than that, but still greatly subdued.
And that snowline beckons.
