Today I smelled the onset of winter, a crisp, damp, cool breeze not patting but slipping its fingers around my bare ankles. Trees have closed for business. Only their last fragments of finery skitter away in the dusk. Car tires whoosh by waiting for the different sound of snow crunch beneath them, the crunch that happens when the snow is crusted or the whispered squeakier crunch of a fluffy snow. Darkness comes early these days, but soon, soon a night will come when the sky is lightened by reflected moonshine on new fallen white.
Winter is not barren but stark.