As I walk toward the shop, there’s an inferno of color rustling above my head. Reds, oranges, yellows. The leaves are at peak and a steady breeze loosens some, causing them to drift to the ground. I enter the shop and realize that the inside temperature is the same as the outside temperature. This is the time of year when you don’t need air conditioning or heat. You feel comfortable whether you’re inside or out. It’s the best.

And that’s when it happens. Someone starts to sing over the radio about letting it snow.

I’m so discombobulated. It’s Halloween afternoon and I’m doing a bit of recreational shopping. I’m looking at racks of items with fall colors and patterns and the calendar still reads October. We haven’t even changed the clocks yet, so why am I hearing a song about snow and ice? Isn’t it still autumn?

The wintry wonderland of a song ends and the radio goes back to regular Top 40 music. “Thank you,” I mutter under my breath. And I don’t even like Top 40.

When I’m done looking around, I’ve chosen one thing that I want to buy. I take my item to the cashier and she rings me up. She then pulls a candy-filled bucket from under the counter. “Trick or treat?” she asks.

“Oh wow, chocolate fangs? Cool!” I say and reach in.

Right then someone starts to croon about chestnuts and open fires.

I look at the bucket of scary treats, cock my head, and point toward the overhead speaker. “Um...isn’t it All Hallows Eve?”

“Yup,” says the cashier. “And in here it’s also Christmas. Strange times we’re living in.”

Strange indeed.

I exit the store with chocolate fangs in hand and try to get the song about having a Merry Christmas out of my head. It’s not happening. As soon as I get to my car, I find a spooky song on my iPod and crank it. Loud.

As I write this it’s a couple of weeks later. Now we’re fully into what I think of as “The In Between Days.” It’s not Halloween and it’s not Christmas. It feels neither here nor there. Thanksgiving seems to get lost in the shuffle and it’s not fair. There’s a full month of fall left, more than a month if you go by the actual calendar and not the meteorological one. And yet, the autumn items have gone missing from stores. I swear they were pulled Nov. 1. Gone are the rich browns, buttery yellows, and burnt oranges. They’ve been devoured by blinding reds and greens.

Even practical items have been consumed by all that is wintry. Pom-pom hats, hand warmers, and de-ice packs have taken over shelves everywhere. No matter where you go, you’re slapped in the face by reminders that fall will soon be gone and Jack Frost is waiting in the wings to take over, dancing in anticipation like he’s got a full bladder and just finished a three-hour car ride.

I want to tell ole Jack to cool his heels already. I’m not ready for him yet. And no one else should be, either. There’s plenty of time to think about cold toes and frosty fingers. God knows, by Jan. 2 we’ll all be sick of snow and cursing the ice that encases our cars each morning. Winter lasts far too long in these parts. I don’t want to rush it.

Outside, the trees still sport some leaves and the air hasn’t developed a nor’easterly bite yet. Inside local shops, it might as well be snowmageddon.

As the lady said, “Strange times we’re living in.”

Until Black Friday I plan to ignore the harbingers of winter. I’ll take long walks, watching brightly colored leaves glide toward the grass. I’ll forgo gloves and pom-pom hats for as long as I can. On Thanksgiving Eve I’ll sleep a deep sleep while visions of turkey legs dance in my head.

Juliana Gribbins is a writer who believes that absurdity is the spice of life. Her book Date Expectations is winner of the 2017 Independent Press Awards, Humor Category and winner of the 2016 IPPY silver medal for humor. Write to her at jeepgribbs@hotmail.com. Read more of her columns at www.zip06.com/shorelineliving.