The summer has oozed out into fall, creating a tenuous truce between the intense prairie sun and the restless thrust of Rocky Mountain winters. The crisp dew that glitters in the yard as the sun rises will soon give way to a June-like warmth. You wear your warm puffy vest in the morning to ward off the frost and Wind River chill, only to strip down to a light t-shirt on your ride home. The 30-40 degree upswing confounds the body temperature as it struggles to keep up.
This is also the time of year when the haze of all the wood stoves in town begins to settle into the valley. I can stand in the backyard, bundled in fleece and delicately sipping hot coffee, and take in the yellow of fall cottonwood and the smoky mist that hovers above Lander’s bungalows and old mining cabins. We have several friends who heat primarily or completely with wood, which can be a hassle but always smells to me like Christmas morning. We’ve been using our own stove nearly every morning, stuffing it full of pine and aspen so that it warms the tile underfoot.
But I keep looking to the mountains, to the snow on the peaks visible from our windows, new snow that is already starting to dwindle in the unseasonal warmth of November. Despite the short, chilly summer, I am ready for those long winters for which the wide-open Wyoming spaces are so known.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
1 comment:
Gee, you write evocatively! I can feel the fall coldness and warmth.
Post a Comment