The first frost fell forcefully this morning.
December’s icy tendrils are splaying themselves fractally across the grass of my front lawn
its fingers are playing coyly with November’s hair.
Winter is anxious to begin
and December is chomping at the
bit
to get started
with its twisted work.

It would take off early if the calendar allowed it.

This year, the big sleep will be deep
and wide
and all-consuming.

Plains of crystalline water and
steamy breath and
frost in grass.

Today marks our embarkment on the slow descent into a colossal valley,
a valley that we will not emerge from for four or five months,
Well into next year.

I am peering down the ***** of this basin,
which I am fully aware is far above my powers to control,
and I cannot help but feel
daunted
by the enormity of it.

and this house!
with its cracks about the windows
and age-old insulation
creaks and groans in the night.
This shelter
may just be the death of me.

So
batten down the hatches.
We are on the brink of something
destructively
beautiful.