Going Visiting

Packing the books and clean socks; all traveling electronics on their chargers. Mother eagerly counting the hours until I arrive. Am bringing the Mishra and Doig books, a library-owned mystery, Chris Rose's Katrina book (which I brought last time, too, and keep not starting), three purpose-bought mysteries, two more stray paperbacks. It may not be enough.

Storm coming. The forecast says there might be snow. I'm not sorry to miss it, having cheerfully imagined—when I left Santa Fe's 7000' winters—that I was moving to someplace wet and cool, yes, but above all equable; and did not expect even windshield frost, nevermind snow. It frosts... surprise!!!... when the humidity is high and then the sky suddenly clears and the temperature drops. If it hasn't been raining, or there's a heavy overcast, there might be no frost. Anyway down where the instruments are, on the streets of town, the temperature doesn't drop to freezing very often. Up here, yes. And in the open: if there's frost on the windshield up here, there's usually frost on the fields out by the tribal center at nearly sea level.

A few days ago it dumped down snow at M.'s house in the woods, elevation about 1000 feet; only rain here at 475 feet. Luckily I won't know if it snows tomorrow, I'll be en route to my mother's fold-out couch in the desert, and can go on fooling myself about the climate of my new home.