But the season? That was a debate he had never won.
He was searching for the marker stone—a granite post set by his grandfather fifty years ago to delineate the edge of the property. Snow had begun to fall an hour ago. It wasn't the gentle, playful dusting of late autumn. This snow was heavy, wet, and indifferent. It erased the world one feature at a time. A bush became a white lump. A trail became a smooth, treacherous sheet. when does winter begin
Elias closed his eyes. The snow piled up on his shoulders, a heavy, white coat. But the season