Fallen Old Men and Golden Willows
I think we truly and really said good-bye to autumn 2024 up here in northern Alberta. The temperatures have took a tumble below zero celsius today and for tomorrow as well. Lows as deep as minus seven. We would rarely see weather this cold on the west coast, but as the refrain goes ... it is a wet cold.
And it is true, humidity allows the frigid to reach to the bone. However, other than beachside, there isn't much in the way of wind chill on the downtown streets of Vancouver.
With the wind to your back, it isn't really much more than a brisk day, with a sprinkling of fairy-dust snow. But walking alongside a harvested farmer's field, with the northerlies blasting into your face ... yeah it is cold. So cold even Minime on our walk had to admit it, put on a hat, and bemoan his choice not to wear long underwear. Boy does he not understand what is coming.
It is cold, windy, and snowy, but according to the forecast, come Tuesday, we will warm up somewhat. No more balmy days, but the degrees will climb enough that the snow will not stick around, at least during the daylight hours.
Good thing. Halloween is a eleven days away and fingers crossed for a warmish night. I remember as a child in Manitoba, October 31st almost always heralded in winter weather. We are farther north, and so it makes sense it came earlier. No worries. We are safe inside and warm. it is a winter wonderland outside, and not a Robert Frost-like death by ice wasteland.
No the world is not ending, just the season and short-sleeve weather. So enjoy, the colors of the great, feigned death that precedes the long, cold sleep. It is a cold blanket that nature pulls upon herself for her winter rest, her sharp whistles encourages us lesser beings to head indoors. I am difficult one to encourage. Because even with a blanket of white, there is always beauty and art to be discovered and celebrated. Got my slippers a little soggy to take this photo below and it inspired haiku.
From my snaps ...
Which brings us to our daily poetry. All That Is Left of the Old Man was inspired by my time in Vancouver's West End. It is a naturally beautiful neighborhood, with an abundance of flowers, just about year around, and a blessing of aged and giant trees. Intimidating even. No shortage of gorgeous sights to capture with one's camera. Alas, sometimes the wind whips up off the Pacific; old and wizened roots lose their grip on loose soil, and the most stately and long-lived of organisms is uprooted and forced into permanent retirement.
The eye of the tree in the photo above is not an oak, but a birch willow. It is a beauty of tree, green in the spring and summer, and gold in the autumn, even now as the wind blows, and the snow dances among it swaying limbs. Perhaps, there is a week or two more of color. Willows do know how to persist long after others have broken.
But today we will mourn the oak.
Click in to enjoy a spoken word put to music.
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Words and Images are my own.
All That Is Left of the Old Man is published in Monsters, Angels, and Avatars. Monsters, Avatars, and Angels available in paperback or digital through amazon and your local libraries and bookstores. Click on any title below to further explore and support my writing.
Hola, de solo escuchar esas temperaturas me da frío, de verdad es un contenido muy emotivo , me gustaría escribir como tú .
So hopefully I translated correctly. My Spanish is still in devlopment. I am certain you write amazingly in your native language.
sorry for having written in Spanish, I really appreciate your content, happy afternoon
No worries ... it gives me an opportunity to practise:)
Nice image display.
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