I finally surrendered to the chilly morning temperature and donned a cardigan.

And long pants as well.

I’m putting on the record that I think bare arms and legs outdoors may be disappearing until about April 2017 … what do you think?

Pulling on full-length pants again felt a little weird, and, I had to laugh to myself, because I was just about ready to abandon the rolled-gauze wraps I’ve kept on my legs while the pesky blisters were getting completely healed up. Try as I may, I could not stretch my socks to reach the top of that gauze, thus, the bandage-filled gap between the tops of the socks and the bottoms of my capris made me look a little like Ruth Buzzi’s character, Gladys Ormphby, this past six weeks.

Before I departed on my walk, I tried to decipher this morning’s weather report, as best I could, since it was wedged in between the many, morning-after stories about last night’s Presidential debate. I needed to hear it to decide just how many layers to don on this especially chilly morning.

Finally, I heard it – 50 degrees.

Just 50 degrees … clearly, there was no time before I left for any wool gathering, a/k/a that annual rite of Fall … going into the cedar closet and rooting out the light wool items to wear on my morning walk on that first really chilly day in September.

First, it is just the wool headband and gloves.

Then, once you can see a trail of condensation coming from your mouth or nose, AND your eyeglasses steam up when you walk inside the house after being outside … well, then it is time to resort to even-warmer duds.

Next comes a scarf, then a hat and finally, a heavier coat.

I had many years of practicing and perfecting this ritual, having taken the bus for decades.

I missed out on a walk yesterday thanks to the rain, and it looks like rain is in the forecast the rest of the week through Sunday. Ugh.  We’re still making up for that long, hot, dry Summer I guess.  The trees and bushes are happy for the rain –but me, not so much.

I don’t just miss the physical exercise of a walk, but I miss the woolgathering as I meander along as well. Walking is peaceful to me, a portion of time to let my mind be a blank, or absorb the goings-on, and, if I’m so inclined, to ponder my next blog post … or life.

Wool gathering … pure Michigan. Woolgathering … pure bliss.