As if there was any lingering doubt, yesterday’s first snowfall marked a definitive end to the swimming season. And a beginning to the Winter Boot Season.
Sitting in a meeting in Burlington, Vermont, I stare through the window at the clouds pressing low over the slate-hued lake, the snow spitting at first — flake by flake — then sprinkling like a giant basket of milkweed seeds and fluff turned upside down.
Already? I think. Winter? And in my next heartbeat, spring oddly feels not so far off. In January, of course, this will be a different story, our house banked in by snow, my hands longing to sink into the earth.
But for now, there’s just that snow silently drifting into the lake, melting.
I don’t know why it made me happy to see the pond ice over in a day,
turning first hazy, then white.
— Jane Kenyon
Pre-snow! Calais, Vermont
Stony Soil Vermont 
There is always that moment when the new season talks to us and we have to adjust. They had been calling for snow here in the southern part of the state, and it did not happen. But, every tire shop in the county had long waits for putting snow tires on! I decided that if it snowed, I would just stay inside and make soup. Or bread. Or write a poem.
I might opt for bread. There’s nothing like the scent of rising dough. The snow — it’s really just a scattering — absolutely brightened up our November world! Snow tires not actually required. Yet.