Up early for a soggy gray morning, rambunctious not-quite-winter wind thrashing and whorling, raindrops on and off, on and off,… Not quite the sunup Sunday I’d conjured in my technicolor imagination!
It was the sort of unsettled environment that makes the prospect of returning to bed more inviting than, say, making breakfast for Carley. But then, a celestial shift. Temporary. But dazzling. Searing through cloud drifts, an exuberant if unlikely luminescence illuminating a tranche of Lake Champlain, all but exactly focused on Rosslyn’s boathouse. It was as if dawn’s diva had appeared centerstage, a floodlight snapping on, casting a golden beam onto the starlet, the first soaring notes of her aria resonating above the crashing waves and the worried whorling wind.
I’ll not pretend this operatic opening endured beyond that first astonishing aria, but for a few minutes both Carley and I went out onto the lawn to bathe in the beauty of this sunup Sunday, to will away the unsettled wind and drizzle, and to witness firsthand winter’s melodramatic advance on autumn.
But our wills weren’t well matched to this mighty weather. Rain resumed. We became wet. Carley hustled off to the wood chips for her morning constitutional. And then we both returned to the house for breakfast fireside as the winters worsened and the autumn weather yielded early.
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