Maybe it’s Just Me, but the sense of impending winter seems strong just now. It’s partly the chilly spells we’ve been experiencing – – isn’t it unusual for it to get down in the mid-40s at night this early in the season? The cats want double breakfasts – that’s got to mean something. And then there’s the conviction that I should be eating pasta. And cheese.
Reminds me of that old joke about the two New England farmers who were speculating one Fall day in front of the General Store about what kind of winter they were going to have. They decide to ask Injun Joe, an old Algonguin with a reputation as a weather prophet. “What do you think, Joe, can you read the signs? is it going to be a bad one?”
Joe puffs on his pipe, looks at the trees that are just starting to turn. Looks up at the sky, sniffs the breeze, gazes all around, finally nods. “Hmph!” he says, “hard winter this year.”
“How do you know, Joe?”
“White man build big woodpile.”