Spooky Weather

This week has been surprisingly similar to the way I remember fall in New England.

Monday mornings sunrise, thanks to the daylight savings changes, set a fire over the North Cascades. I watched it warm through the windsheild.

Tuesday, I flew to school on my broomstick and the two wheeled bicycle beneath it. It was 33 degrees when I pushed off. The entire route red with street trees. A large oak tree has laughed off most of its toothed sharp leaves and left a large pile at the Northeast corner of the school. They rustle as I ride through them. A day of dry ice and mad science. Spooktacular!

Wednesday I rode with Robin, a student teacher who lives nearby. We paused on the Montlake Bridge to see the sillouhettes of skulls and crew teams draw ripples in the sunrise reflection. We rode home together, too, the dusk drawing its own magic on the new snows in the Olympics. Clouds gathered to warm the evening so much I pulled at the long legs of my cycling pants and Robin removed her jacket before the final hill.

Thursday morning pitter patted into my bedroom through the windows. Loud raindrops can't come quietly. I put on my super rain jacket and slipped down the driveway; yes, on the bike. Fenders protect me from the excess splashing, and the visor of my helmet keeps most of the drips off my glasses. I could ring my gloves out in the sink when I arrived, smiling. Robin and I rode home again, today. Large thwaps hitting me on the scalp through holes in the helmet. Deep puddles at the corners, and pocketed patterns on the Montlake cut. I hope it's snowing in the mountains.