Early this morning I watched the first few whispers of snow fall outside my window. Soon they had multiplied into a soft, misty flow of small flakes that balanced on bare branches and curled up in cups of shriveling brown leaves.
These days the first snow never seems to last. In fact, rain is forecast for the next few days and the muted, monochromatic world will become sticky with mud over Thanksgiving. But for now, perfection holds its breath.