We have entered the bleak days of mid-November. It is cold and damp and dreary and dim. I went early today to Yarmouth to let Nick have one more romp in his favorite place. I stopped to pick up a coffee and a bagel (pumpkin with raisin walnut cream cheese, light please) and before I got on the highway, the windshield was beginning to collect scattered drops. Thankfully they weren't snow, just that miniscule nasty stuff that makes turning the wipers on lowest setting.
I watch the rocks. They are nearly as interesting as the leaves and grasses. Maine has huge glacial rocks which have been violated in order to accommodate our extensive highway systems. Too bad. But it does give someone like me an opportunity to see what they look like inside. I don't know much about geology, practically noting in fact, but the rocks fascinate me, as I have mentioned before. Early this month the faces of the rocks were pale and dry; very cold appearing. Then we had a few nice days, and the rocks warmed with the sun. On the south side of the road the rocks became moist from recent rains draining from the soil above. Today it was cold. The rocks were bearded with strands of ice. Not the hard thick ice of winter, but the thin, thready strands on the most protruding surfaces. The deep cuts, randomly left by the blasts that split the rock open, were small dark pockets. The kind a kid might hide a secret message in if he had access to the rock.
Leaving the highway, going around the narrow off-ramp also cut through glacial rock, kids had painted some of the surfaces with white and blue and pink. The surface, slightly iced, blurred the words and lines of their graffiti. The town does not consider it a defacing worth the effort of erasing. I like the natural rock and wish the kids would respect the beauty they are obscuring.
At Nick's favorite place, the ground is still a bit mushy; the pine needles have been cleaned up. The bark of the trees is dark and cold, and the evergreens' young needles have turned their darkest winter green.. The old needles were the golden ones that dropped off and are long gone to composting. Walking in the yard, my feet felt the cold and damp of November.
At home, I clipped the last of the roses, some just budding but nipped by the frost, and put the covers over them. A light gust of wind blew all the covers off within minutes so I went back out to cover them again, and I found a few mid-sized rocks to hold them down. At Yarmouth I picked up some bigger, flatter stones to ensure the "rose cones" will stay put. Tomorrow I will cover the butterfly bush out front, put the lights on the shrubs and try to figure out a way to light my front door for the holidays.
A very nice Boy Scout came by yesterday selling wreaths, nicely decorated and ready to hang. $18. More than I have ever paid for a wreath.I purchased a bag of delicious chocolate covered popcorn from a Cub Scout earlier. $24. I like to think it is going to a good cause.
Cold, bleak November - rocks whose tears freeze on their faces.