horrors!

Aren't we all constantly adjusting to some thing or another?
The seasons, for instance.

Don't get me going. Too late. You got me going and now you'll get an earful.
Lately, I have been content with scenes such as these from my mudroom window:

I hadn't minded the lack of cheery orange/butter yellow/russet red. I had not complained in the least. Even the distant glowering clouds failed to worry me of the coming onslaught of winter.

I was too focused on gathering comfort from such things as these:







Ah, the blessings of autumn!

I neglected to take pictures of other soul-warming things such as mulled cider, the woodstove, a quilt over a rocking chair, roasted pumpkin seeds, and mounds of raked leaves. We've seen our fair share of these.

But this morning, I saw something that shook me to the core.
THE VERY FACE OF OLD MAN WINTER.

He seems to be moaning.--Which would account for the drifts of iced snow that coated the sides of the cars in our driveway this morning.
(Fact: little sticks from our maple trees were frozen into this dreadful mix, sticking out not unlike popsicle sticks in those tupperware molds of my childhood.)

Look again, and you will note that Old Man Winter sports a UNIBROW. I don't know why this stands out to me.
He looks merciless. Unfeeling. I tremble at my proximity to him. His awfulness sends me trembling, stumbling, reeling back in fear. I view him from a few feet away:



His pointy chin begins to amuse me. The nearby footprints in the snow leave the impression that others have survived his wrath.
The fear begins to dissipate. I step further way and squint. I rub eyes in wonder.

Old Man Winter is just a fable, folks.
And all that snow is merely an illusion. The nipping cold is a figment of the imagination.

Mollified by thoughts like these, I stepped away confidently.
As soon as I find my kayak (it was in the yard just yesterday somewhere...), I may hit the river a few more times this fall.