1 December

For December the snow is normal, but for the past few years I have been lulled by the warmth of this month and the absence of snowfall. This weekend’s storm draws me up too sharply. Winter’s reality becomes inescapable as snow covers the ground deep enough to assert that it intends to remain until April. This is it: no more running on the trail, no more expansive green lawns, no more Crocs on my feet with their too many holes into which cold air blows and wet snow oozes. I purchased a new pair of fleece-lined Merrells to protect my feet as I sludge out to Walden.

And my car, my lovely black Prius which not a month ago was rolling about sparkling clean at 49 miles per gallon, is now perpetually dirty inside and out, and daily loses efficiency in the cold. And there remains still three weeks until winter’s official advent.