I opened the office curtains this morning and … pow! So I dragged the Sony RX100 and the iPhone SE out to have a digital peek.
OK, with my lefty snark in the books, how about this?
The iPhone SE’s camera gave the light a slightly less mind-boggling tone.
This is what we woke up to this morning — one of the most fabulous, otherworldly skies it has been my privilege to witness.
I’m just an old Zen atheist, heretic, and equal-opportunity blasphemer, but if I were of a more religious bent, I might think that somebody with some weight up there said a rosary for Mons.
And seeing as how it’s snowing now, I’d say I’m getting mine, too.
Man, you just can’t beat the clouds in New Mexico, even if they occasionally snow on you.
Seven inches. I measured it, with a steel ruler.
No, not that. The snow. The landscape drank it the way a wino chugs a short dog.
You’d be surprised how quickly an Albuquerque lawn can drink seven inches of snow. Maybe not.
Winter’s drive-by with its record snowfall and low temperature meant I had to crank up the furnace two days earlier than last year. There’s something final about the sound of that Trane XR80 groaning back to hideous life; every time I switch the thermostat from “Cool” to “Heat” I feel as though I’ve just driven a stake through the heart of summer.
The streets cleared quickly — after 133 vehicle crashes and 31 injuries, nobody wanted to be on them, not even the snow.
But if you were afoot and kept your eyes open it wasn’t awful. I went out for a couple hourlong walks and by Friday it was warm enough for a ride, in long sleeves, knickers and tuque.
Anyway, we’ve got a stretch of 60-something and sunny on tap, so it looks like the landscape is back on the wagon after slamming its cold one.
In the pines, in the pines, where the sun don’t ever shine; I would shiver the whole night through.
Seven inches of snow at 7 a.m. with seven days until the election.
I call that an omen. Of what sort, I’m not certain. But it has to be better than 6, 6, and 6, don’t you think?
Sweet dreams, old pal.
As the snow piled up last night I dreamed of Field Marshal Turkish von Turkenstein (commander, 1st Feline Home Defense Regiment).
He was all sprawled out, occupying a considerable portion of territory, as was his practice, and seemed very much at peace. So I woke with a smile. It was good to see my old comrade again.
I did not dream of Covid the Barbarian, because it was not yet Halloween, which this year comes with a rare full moon, the first to brighten All Hallow’s Eve in (wait for it) many moons. There won’t be another until 2039.
And it’s a blue moon. Another omen?
Here’s hoping it lights our way toward kicking the Not-So-Great Pumpkin off the White House porch a few days later.
We were on something of a weather carousel here this morning, a slowly revolving lazy Susan serving up blue sky, clouds, rain, sleet, and snow. Don’t like what’s set before you? Patience. Another option will be coming around directly.
Eventually, ol’ Suze coasted to a stop … on snow.
Oh, well. It was bound to happen eventually. It’s October, f’chrissakes. Cyclocross season in an ordinary year, which this is not, with the Giro just wrapped and the Vuelta ongoing.
I got my cyclocross in yesterday before the weather went all to shitaree, rolling south on the foothills trails past Copper and back again.
No running, thanks all the same. Not even a hike-a-bike. The weather was cool, but the ground was dry, alarmingly so, and there wasn’t anything I couldn’t ride on my trusty Steelman Eurocross.
Alas, as Thomas McGuane has written, “sometimes a man needs to be afoot to keep from going broke, get down and go to his tasks, instead of posing on the horse. …”
So today, no horsing around. I pulled on some long pants, grabbed the push broom, and herded some snow off my driveway. Yippee-ki-yay, etc.
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