I sit in the old block chair salvaged from a curb one sunny day, the cat asleep behind my head, the rain steady and expansive, and the occasional loud rushes of water from where we should have gutters wrapping sound and calm around me. Soup cooks in the crockpot. The dog sleeps on the floor. The windows are filled with darkness and the reflections of our lamps, and I’m trying to summon up the energy to saute some onions and make some cornbread.
This outrageously long fall is clearly ending. From 487 miles north, in St. Paul, MN., my daughter sends me an email titled, “So this is interesting” with nothing in it but a link to the weather report she’s facing: 100% snow for her weekend. Back in the wet skies of Kansas, I can’t yet imagine snow, but I know the trees are being washed free of their leaves, the ground is softening, and winter is coming.