Earnest cold has not set in yet, this late-fall morning in the Berkshires. Heavy sweater, thick wool scarf, and mittens hand-knit by my mother are still enough to keep me warm. I head out for a walk. I’ve added on an extra layer underneath for every week gone by since October swept us out, and dropped us down like windblown leaves into November. Three layers in, it’s almost time to wear the winter coat, or it will get too difficult to move.
My breath pushes out into the chill, its little clouds brief punctuations at each step up the quiet road. The Housatonic River rushes over-full, below. A thick mist rings the base of the hill just beyond, holding its frost-tipped crown to the sun.
