As I turn my collar to the wind for the first time this year I wonder how much of fall is left. And standing there alone at the shore, the river like glass, I look down to see reflected perfectly, the signs of change. Winters arrival written in the sky to the west.

A pinky grey sky
Winter snowfall beckons me
Hurry home to warmth

A fire's orange lights the room as snow begins to fall. Sat in the sanctuary of home, watching flakes dance on the wind before settling to earth. The mournful moan of the wind punctuated by the snap and pop of logs on the fire. As we fall into winter, this becomes my lullaby.