Neither Rain Nor Snow

It's neither rain now snow, but something in between. It reminds me of a poem we had to read once, one that has come into my head again and again in the years since.

Sparrows were feeding in a freezing drizzle
That while you watched turned into pieces of snow
Riding a gradient invisible
From silver aslant to random, white, and slow. There came a moment that you couldn't tell.
And then they clearly flew instead of fell.

- Because You Asked about the Line between Prose and Poetry, by Howard Nemerov.

Everyone keeps saying that we didn't have autumn this year, that Missouri went from Summer into Winter without a pause. I'm not so certain of that. No, we haven't had the sort of Indian Summer we've gotten so used to, but still, there were crisp cool days, warm afternoons, long shadows and golden light, and when I drove Anlan to KOMU today, the fall colours were lovely, even surrounded in the cool grey not-quite-rain.

But you're right. Now it's too cold to smell the roses.