I love the changing of the seasons down here in the marsh. The changes are at first subtle and then sudden–like diving off the edge of Fall, 30 degrees straight down to Winter. Winter doesn’t wrap me up like the felty feel of Fall. It pricks me like pine needles and wool sweaters. The wind is howling out today, ushering in a mean cold front. The whipping of the wind makes me restless, because I can’t see it–only hear it and feel it.
I am a visual person. I hear in pictures. I think in pictures. I express myself in pictures. So, here, let me tell you about the walk I took on the back portion of my property . . .
Now, wasn’t that refreshing?
Post Script Sunday morning: The temperature has dropped 40 degrees since yesterday’s writing–from 75 down to 35. See what I mean?