The house fly in the window finally died Wednesday night. It had been a feeble thing anyway, fooled all fall into believing it was still summer, and that maybe it had a chance. But then this week temperatures plummeted, the wind howled and cold seeped into every crack in the old farmhouse.

And the house fly was toast.

Following this discovery there was a mad scramble: to find thick socks, the warmest mittens, ski wear for layering, a wool rug for the bedroom floor.

Like the house fly, Islanders have been lulled by the mild weather that has stretched on this year.

And most agreed that the cold came as something of a shock. Yard chores have been left half-finished; the wood pile looks like an anachronism.

No one should be surprised: it’s December after all. The solstice is just a few days from now. Christmas is around the corner.

There was even a merry dusting of snow Thursday, a little something to provoke the holiday mood.

Islanders will get used to the cold, they always do.

But first a good long snuggle may be in order beneath a pile of quilts. While dreams of warm ocean swimming dance in our head.