urbpan | Sure glad it's not snow

Wilma, Alpha and an unnamed slug of wet air from the west have come together as a drenching blustery mess over New England. If it had come a month from now it would be piling snow in drifts measured in feet not inches. My clothes are scattered about the apartment hanging from doorknobs and coathook drying, and the dogs are trying to dry off by running from one end of the place to the other.

The interesting part of walking in this storm, head down to keep my rain hood from blowing back, was seeing the bright leaves pasted to the wet walkway. As we passed under different trees, the species, color and character of the leaves changed. Under a red oak a carpet of pointy pumpkin-orange. As we pass under a sugar maple, a riot of luminous reds. Far too many leaves were still green.

Last year, or was it the year before, we got our first significant snowstorm before most people had begun raking up leaves. Certain oaks and young beeches kept their dried leaves as crackling windchimes for snow crystals to rattle over. So far this has been a warm autumn--no frost yet for Boston. I'm happy for now for storms that mean wet, not blizzard.