THE SIGNS OF the impending season are unmistakable and should not be ignored.

The vine maples are red. The cottonwood trees are yellow. The old guide’s woodpile is large enough to be seen from space.

The cows are getting shaggy coats. The spiders in their uncounted millions are showering the forests and meadows with gossamer streams of silver threads in preparation to coming indoors.

These autumn mornings are only a few degrees shy of the first frost.

Soon, we will witness the appearance of the orange-coated road-hunter and be subjected to that ancient hated ritual, the stupid turning of the clocks.

All of which means it’s time once again for this wilderness gossip columnist’s winter weather forecast. Offered every year at this time as a public service to the benefit of humanity, at

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