The Fire Still Burns: Foliage and First Snow

In which the autumn begins to slide into winter . . .

For the past week, the weather forecasters have been talking about this week's potential for snowfall. A system of some kind was expected to move across the U.S., and depending on how and where and when it arrived, they predicted it might bring significant snowfall along the Great Lakes into the eastern seaboard.

By the time Monday night rolled around, they had clarified that in central Pennsylvania, we might expect just an inch or two of snow, with the potential for slippery roads first thing Tuesday morning. Just in case of poor travel conditions, I decided to take the bus to work. (No, the winter tires aren't on my car yet, but they will be soon!)

When Tuesday morning rolled around, I did indeed catch the bus. We had about an inch and a half of snow out where we live. In town, they had just a skiff. (It turns out I was glad I took the bus, though, for my husband reports that shortly after I left, our road flash-froze, and there were accidents on the corner near our house, involving several vehicles and drawing an ambulance, the police, and a fire truck, and necessitating the closing of our road for a short while.)

With about a half-hour between buses on campus, I seized the opportunity to walk around (briskly but carefully, as some of the steps and walkways were a bit slippery) and take pictures of our first tiny snowfall. Was I in for a treat when I wandered down through West Halls - for I found there a pocket of brightly colored trees!

I took many photos in West Halls - of the lovely brick buildings, of the old-fashioned benches and lights, of the tiny skiff of snow, of the coming of the light. But mostly of the trees, each the color of a bright red flame. And I thought about how much I love fall, whose colors continue to linger on, much to my delight.

And I also thought about the coming of winter and the great cold. And I could almost feel the time passing, could hear in the morning's quiet hours the sound of one season starting to slide into another. After the fire of autumn comes the chill of winter cold. But even the snow cannot extinguish the flames . . .

After the fire, the fire still burns
The heart grows older but never ever learns
The memories smolder and the soul always yearns
After the fire, the fire still burns

The soundtrack for this scene is one of my very favorite Roger Daltrey tunes, After the Fire.