It's another month until winter officially begins, and we haven't had a hard freeze yet, but winter is nearly here: with only a little rain, our California gold is turning green.
We have golden hills about six months of every year throughout California when the rainy season stops. The grasses turn crispy and dry, and every shade of golden, from pale to dark tan, lights the landscape.
Tony noticed the green creeping under our browned knolls last week not long after the first soaking rain, and this week more green blades are lining the roadways and the still-dry creek beds. Most of the past season's leaves are still clinging to the branches and trees are still bright with fall color. Green is the color of our winter in the valleys, though, and it's coming on.
Wood stove smoke flavors the air in the mornings and the Canadian geese honk loudly as they fly low in search of ponds on their way south. The outdoor kitties' coats are coming in thick and coarse, and they've porked up in preparation for cold nights -- we're going through lots of cat food, and this time it's not the deer or raccoons who are chowing down on it, it's the cats.
My sweaters and sweatshirts have replaced linen shirts and tees in my closet, and clogs with woolly socks take priority over sandals. I've put a blanket on the bed, although not the thick downy comforter yet, and we're only a few weeks away from flannel sheets. I'm pulling out soup recipes from my recipe box and even thinking about Christmas cookies.
I like this kind of winter where it's nippy but not frigid, not white with ice or inches of snow, and where I don't have to worry about snow tires or chains unless I want to venture into mountains. I'm ready for hot soup and fresh bread and fuzzy slippers, and good thick books for long winter evenings.
Bring it on.
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