About 38 years ago, before my non-fiction writing career, I tried my hand at writing short stories and poetry to perhaps sell to a publication. I gave up the idea after the regular weekly paychecks came rolling in by writing for this newspaper.

One pretty good poem I wrote (at least in my mind) was about November, how October morphed into the 11th month and how the landscape and temperatures changed.

I don't know what happened to the poem or what the various stanzas said, but I do remember not writing about snow, ice and arctic blasts. Something about "switching from sweaters to coats..."

So, we are in the middle of November. Again I haven't finished getting up the leaves (about halfway done) and I got stymied from completing that chore last November as snow fell early and often.

Ice and snow fell Monday and Tuesday, not much around here on the coast, but it did.

Please, Old Man Winter ... stay up in Canada until December. We expect your arrival then, not now.