Dickens is describing Christmas morning of the present in this passage. Snow has fallen (even though snow was not a common occurrence in Victorian London), and Scrooge is out and about in the winter wonderland. Snow and soot and black windows and deep furrows in the streets.
That pretty much describes winter in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. When I say winter, I mean (roughly) the months October through April or May. Yes, if you do the math, that means seven or eight months of snow. The reason I am so focused on this subject this morning is that I woke to snow on the ground and my car. It is cold and wet outside. The sky is gun-metal grey at the moment, and I don't think it's supposed to get much warmer or sunnier for the rest of the weekend.
I'm not quiet prepared for the onset of winter yet. I really enjoyed the 70-degree temperatures of this past week. I want that to last until, say, Thanksgiving. Last year, when I ran a 10-K race on turkey day, I didn't have to wear a hat or gloves or winter clothing. It was a tee shirt run by Lake Superior. I could handle that again.
The colors of autumn are reaching their brightest. I'm looking out of the window of McDonald's right now, and the trees are blazing gold and orange against the falling snow. If the cold weather sticks around, there won't be too much color left in a few days. But the weather is very changeable in this area. It will be different in a few days (or hours or minutes).
For the moment, Saint Marty will just eat his Sausage McMuffin, suck down his Diet Coke, and think warm autumn thoughts.
Confessions of Saint Marty
No comments:
Post a Comment