Good Morning,
Happy first day of Autumn! It may still feel like summer in your neck of the woods, but up here there's no turning back the clock. It appears as though the rain chances continue to withdraw, so this weekend is looking favorable for a day on the trail. Yesterday's temperatures were an exact repeat of the day prior, with a high of 65 degrees and a low of 47. If these blue skies persist through the afternoon we should once again enjoy the 60's. These clear nights have been making for some fantastic sunsets and star gazing lately.
Have a great day, and may the poem below get you in the seasonal mood.
Happy first day of Autumn! It may still feel like summer in your neck of the woods, but up here there's no turning back the clock. It appears as though the rain chances continue to withdraw, so this weekend is looking favorable for a day on the trail. Yesterday's temperatures were an exact repeat of the day prior, with a high of 65 degrees and a low of 47. If these blue skies persist through the afternoon we should once again enjoy the 60's. These clear nights have been making for some fantastic sunsets and star gazing lately.
Have a great day, and may the poem below get you in the seasonal mood.
 Sights of the Milky Way have been on the regular in recent nights. |  Mt. LeConte in its autumn glory. |
Autumn Daybreak
Cold wind of autumn, blowing loud
At dawn, a fortnight overdue,
Jostling the doors, and tearing through
My bedroom to rejoin the cloud,
I know -- for I can hear the hiss
And scrape of leaves along the floor --
How may boughs, lashed bare by this,
Will rake the cluttered sky once more.
Tardy, and somewhat south of east,
The sun will rise at length, made known
More by the meagre light increased
Than by a dusk in splendour shown;
When, having but to turn my head,
Through the stripped maple I shall see,
Bleak and remembered, patched with red,
The hill all summer hid from me.
-Edna St. Vincent Millay
Cold wind of autumn, blowing loud
At dawn, a fortnight overdue,
Jostling the doors, and tearing through
My bedroom to rejoin the cloud,
I know -- for I can hear the hiss
And scrape of leaves along the floor --
How may boughs, lashed bare by this,
Will rake the cluttered sky once more.
Tardy, and somewhat south of east,
The sun will rise at length, made known
More by the meagre light increased
Than by a dusk in splendour shown;
When, having but to turn my head,
Through the stripped maple I shall see,
Bleak and remembered, patched with red,
The hill all summer hid from me.
-Edna St. Vincent Millay
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