Gopher Gulch: November starts with lots of looks

Late Wednesday morning, after a particularly difficult and dirty job, I crawled into the hot-tub to soak away the pain of rusty hinges and indulge in that special feeling of accomplishment earned by completing a hard job you weren’t sure you could manage. The sun was shining, birds were singing and all was sweetness and light.

Since the hot-tub is just northeast of the cottonwood tree, the falling leaves drifted over me. Sometimes a gust would fill the air with dozens of leaves, all drifting, swirling, flowing on an invisible current. Now and again, when the air was utterly still, a leaf would let go not because it was torn away, but simply because it was time to let go.

Leaves always take longer to fall than rain or rocks, but the leaves that let go on their own can take over a minute to get to the ground, and often their falling is the only sound. They rustle from twig to twig, bouncing, twirling, joyfully touching the tree all the way down. I know there’s a lesson there, a lesson about letting go, but I can’t quite get a handle on it yet.

Suddenly the sky turned black, the breeze became a wind, and by the time I got to the house I could smell a storm coming. Wednesday afternoon and Thursday morning provided that lovely, warm, blustery, pre-storm condition. The barometer drops, our energy rises with the wind, and there’s an almost overwhelming desire to spread our wings and lift off. Go ahead, you can admit it.

The storm hit about noon Thursday, complete with horizontal rain and wind gusts creating whitecaps on harbor water that had turned from a sunlit, sparkling jewel to a threatening gun-metal gray.

I’ve always been affected by barometric pressure and storm conditions, and so are a lot of people who don’t consciously realize it. They drive like idiots, dashing through pink traffic lights, tail-gating, playing the “hurry up and wait impatiently” game. When that unusual anxiety and impatience has you in its grip, pull over and stop for just one minute. Breathe slowly and calmly and then start over. Once you realize the problem is your own sensitivity to atmospheric conditions it’s easier to be patient.

Among those who have lived here a long time there's a saying that goes something like this: “If you don’t like the weather, wait 20 minutes and it will change.” Last week proved the truth of the adage.

Reach Inez Castor, a long-time Triplicate columnist, at This e-mail address is being protected from spam bots, you need JavaScript enabled to view it