The in between time waiting for winter to descend leaves us never knowing what to expect day to day. I think in Montana we adopt a stoicism. We expect to haul wood or shovel walks or grit our teeth while driving icy roads. So when it's not really quite that, but still some biting wind here and there, we take our guilty pleasure waiting for the other shoe to drop. Eat that pint of ice cream before starting the diet.
This long stretch of warm weather in November, while we know it's a harbinger of climate change that bodes ill for our planet, is nonetheless easier.
My friend Isabelle's chickens, come in and out of their shelter, listening to the the warmth of the sun suddenly unblocked by a cloud, or a flurry of wind or a hush or the sound of Isabelle bringing food.
They live amidst the willows by a bend in the creek. They seem to like this weather.