Summer exists only in those few green leaves, waiting their turn at the bottom of denuded trees.
Meanwhile, winter gears up all around us. It is 40 degrees (F) as I write this, one room away from the crackling of the main house fire. And there are rumors of snowfall to come this weekend.
That ridge will beckon a little more every day, as trees become skeletal, and then the ground freezes. When snow covers all, we will strap on snowshoes and stomp down.