I have come to anticipate it after every storm. The memory is etched in my bones. It is a relief when it doesn't come. Not yet, it says.
Now it is here, that chill wind that roars through like a bat out of hell when the rains pass and the sky clears. This wind is in a hurry like it is filling some cavernous void. A tsunami of cold wind pushes over and through the mountains. In a day or two it will be satiated and the onslaught will pause.
The first of many waves that will follow. But first I must be in the here and now and enjoy the colors of fall that have yet to come. It is still to soon for the Long Underwear Moon.