Season's bleatings

The weather was sufficiently nasty last night to keep the ghouls and goblins away from my door, but the real weirdness started this morning: for a couple of weeks, it will actually be almost daylight for the last segment of my morning commute.

(Saturday, the sunrise was at 7:49, the latest — per the clock, anyway — it ever happens; this morning, post-DST, what sun we got, which wasn't much, started at 6:50. The dead-of-winter sunrise runs 7:40 or so.)

And a cold front is poised to slice through the area today, spelling the end of the easy part of the fall and the end of the outdoor-frolicking period. This is when we get serious about winter.

Some things, however, don't change; about a mile from the Grey Cavern where Treadmill crosses 42nd, the familiar fragrance of eau de polecat wafted into the ventilation system, just like it does in the spring and the summer.

Posted at 7:30 AM to Weather or Not