“It’s starting now,” she whispered.
Elara thought about this. “For me,” she said slowly, “winter starts when the streetlights come on at four-thirty in the afternoon. It feels like the day gives up. Like it just… quits.” when does the winter start
He pointed a long finger at the window. “For Mr. Chen next door? Winter starts the day he brings in his ceramic Buddha from the garden. He says the cold is bad for its chi. And for Mrs. Galloway down the street, winter starts the first time she hears the sanding trucks on the hill. She says the grit sounds like a giant cat sharpening its claws.” “It’s starting now,” she whispered
He looked at the bare maple tree. “See that tree? All summer it was busy. Leaves chattering, sap running, birds nesting. It was loud. It was alive. Then fall came, and it put on a big, dramatic show. All that red and orange. A goodbye party.” It feels like the day gives up
“Dad,” Elara said, her voice small in the large, quiet room. “When does winter actually start?”