[...] To discover an order as of
A season, to discover summer and know it,
To discover winter and know it well, to find
Not to impose, not to have reasoned at all,
Out of nothing to have come on major weather,
It is possible, possible, possible. It must
Be possible.
--Wallace Stevens, "Notes Toward a Supreme Fiction"
We are now in that dreary and nameless Yukon season between autumn and winter. I think of autumn as over and done with when the leaves fall; winter for me begins with the first serious snowfall that sticks and remains on the ground. Between them lie heavy cloud, snow in the mountains, rain elsewhere, and eventually, bare hard frozen ground. I know it well, though there is no name for it.
The wild swans are getting the hell out. A chevron of fifty flew over my shack yesterday morning, wa-honking continuously to warn the fools on the ground that they should be doing likewise.
Posted by ditkoofseppala at September 26, 2006 02:56 PM