November

First thing this morning, my husband said “It’s November…” meaning several things, I think. Another year has gone by quickly and it’s November AGAIN, we’ve hit the rapid slope to cold and snowy weather, it’s almost time for the holidays AGAIN, and our weekend flea market- attending, driving-around-New England season is over for another year.

I love November. I love the quiet winding down of the world outside our insulating walls. I love the deep reddish brown of the oak leaves that stay on the trees longer than the rest, and I love the way I can focus on more of the small details in the woods. The riot of life and greenery and new things growing and changing every day is over. I can see the tiny hemlock cones left on the trees after the seeds have been pillaged by the birds and can see the lichen and mosses on the trunks of the trees that have recently been burgeoning with life.  I can see the seed pods on the dead wildflower stems waiting to be blown off or eaten and redistributed to other areas.

The natural world isn’t dying – it’s resting and gathering energy for the spring when all of a sudden you’ll notice the pussy willows have their fuzzy toes out, the forsythia are starting to bud, and twigs that have been gray all winter are starting to turn rosy.

For a few quiet weeks we can enjoy the time before holiday preparations begin - before we have to start thinking about what we’re going to cook, who we’re going to invite, what we’re going to buy.

I woke up this morning to shadows of leaves moving and flickering in the sunlight streaming through the window onto the wall beside my bed. That is unique to this time of year. The angle of the sun isn’t right for it except in March in the late afternoon when I can see the shadows of branches moving around on our living room wall.

For the next few weekends, I’ll spend time at home thinking about what my husband and I will cook for our dinner. I’ll read mysteries or books about people experiencing change in their lives. I’ll read about Victorian London or about children fighting the encroaching darkness. I’ll write; I’ll learn folk songs; I’ll paint furniture.

I’ll use this quiet in-between time to rebuild my inner structure and get ready for the hustle and bustle that I know are coming.

Soon, in January, I’ll start thinking about what my summer garden will be like, what trips I’ll take, what projects I’ll work on. I know that time is coming when I’ll be impatient to start moving again. Now, though, I’ll go for a walk, buy some fish for dinner, enjoy the quiet of an early November evening, and store up energy for spring.