Last Week, Fall finally smacked the northwoods. The lake temperature closed in on hypothermic, most trees were at peak color, and it frosted.
No one skied. Oh, there was talk of skiing while huddled around campfires and the lake complied with exceptional flatness, but nobody answered the call. It was too cold, too colorful, too boatless, and it's nice entering late Fall without having to convalesce some late season ski related hurt. Peak color will be over soon. With its end comes the gray. Then the white. I, for one, will not go gentle into that good white, Old seasons should burn campfires and rave of golf at close of day; Rage, rage against the bringing of the white.
-Nemo, splitting wood, not yet being sued by Dylan Thomas.