November blew in with a blast of frigid air, following a quick frozen attack on Halloween that dropped crimson, chestnut, amber and lemon-yellow leaves lifelessly to the ground. Only the heartiest trick-or-treaters made the rounds. I praised their stamina while offering them handfuls of candy. The small children all stayed inside their caves.
Winter is coming. Only technicalities allow this season to be called autumn. The snow on the pumpkins is slowly disappearing, but I don’t know that the snow’s melting. I think it’s sublimating instead.
Yet I am sitting in my short-sleeved, Dr. Who t-shirt above thinner cotton jeans and gray, athletic shoes. The world may be spinning on, but my spouse puts up a formidable resistance to weather shifts. His own circulation does not allow him to tolerate cold well, even with blankets. So heating zones go up to seventy-four degrees and at least a few zones are inescapably warm. The interior climate of Starbase Turner is welcoming to cats, sloths and reptiles, among other creatures. The dinosaurs might have survived if they could only have taken shelter here. Sometimes it’s a bit warm for Jocelyn.
But somehow Amanda and Sarek managed.
Zombie phrase for the day: It’s like living in a space station.
IIhhhhxzzz ayggg ihhhingnnn uhhh bayyy dihhh.
