The Sky is a Hazy Shade of Winter

Two days ago a cold front slammed into us with the force of a semi truck to the back end of a Ford Focus, and today I smelled winter while out on my run. Not fall, winter. That peculiar, acrid blend of organic matter already rotted and wood burning in cast iron stoves and moisture in the air that's heavier than rain. Last week we were swimming outside beneath azure skies and full on sun. We were sweating in shorts and tees on long runs and throwing off the covers at night. This week, the pool water churns untouched beneath its protective cover and we're bundling up for runs in hat, gloves, and long tights. This morning, we woke with the comforter tucked up over our faces and a dog wedged between us.

Right now, outside my window, I'm watching the wind churn and the sky darken to that wispy, steel grey sheen that portends snow. In the garden, my tomatoes made it fine thanks to a fleecy covering of sheet, but a couple more nights like this and my sunny summer yellow marigolds will most definitely fade to black. The number of hummingbirds buzzing around the feeder has been reduced by at least half. I haven't seen a robin since last week and this morning two baby lizards were belly up on the porch, victim either to Maddie or last night's near freeze.

Yes, it's way too early to be this cold. But I've learned never to discount the vagaries of weather out here in the East Mountains. One morning, we can wake to this:

And the next, to this:

So, what's it doing out your way?