The autumn twilight turned into
deep and early night as they walked.
Tristan could smell the distant winter in the air–
a mixture of night-mist and crisp darkness
and the tang of fallen leaves…
Shorter and shorter grow the days; longer and deeper descends the chilling darkness; fewer and fewer remain the hours in Autumn’s cup. But it ain’t over till it’s over as they say. The solstice that has yet to arrive may have sent a brutal taste of Old Man Winter’s schemes, but last week’s “icemageddon” only nipped at the heels of the year’s eldest child. Unwilling to be prematurely deposed, autumn has, in the last few days, reclaimed its rightful place and will be dishing up more of its lovely 60 degree days and above freezing nights. Thus the arctic troll will have to wait his appointed turn at the wheel. God bless the child who has his own!