Soup’s on the stove. Cat is in his basket. Sade’s on the player. And outside the window of my home office: snow, snow.

Amazing that, three days ago I was admiring the subtle tones of autumn in the mountains of Maine.

Water was flowing, but I bet now it’s ice.

A friend said: Is that snow on the mountain over there? And I denied it, claiming sky.

But it’s true the plants were packing up, headed towards the season of sleep that drives us wakeful ones indoors.

When the season turns over, it shouldn’t be a surprise, but so it often is.