The other end of autumn

When I returned to California in early October, autumn (t)here felt a lot like summer. The earth was dusty-parched, the leaves still green, the air warm enough for shorts and a t-shirt and bare feet.

Now, as November lurches into December, it feels like a different country. There’s been an election; swirls of cloud and rain have arrived; temperatures are low enough to merit keeping the wood stove plied with logs (recently cut and brought over by our 80-year-old neighbour, José). And, the deciduous trees dotted amidst northern California’s more ubiquitous evergreens have turned into flashes of yellows and reds.

My re-entry to North America has felt a little strange and jolting1. There’s been far too many cookies, and not nearly enough swimmming (though every time I that I have entered the water it’s felt like an answered prayer). Nature — in its crisply quiet, wistful way — has been a balm.

The last thing you need is (yet) another US presidential election postmortem, or a luke-warm take on the state of the States. So, instead, here are a few photos I’ve taken in recent weeks.