TL;DR, November is one of my favourite months

My family thinks I’m crazy, except possibly my youngest, who shares my weather tastes, because November is one of my favourite months. Chilly damp mornings, the air sweet with a clean, composty fragrance. Quiet gray indoor afternoons, raindrops pattering on the skylights. Long slumbery evenings by a crackling fire. I love it all.

October is prettier for sure. The trees change into their fancy duds, and dance frantically as if to lure summer back, throwing golden orange red confetti in the air to ward off November’s chill. Sunny days remember June, and cloudy days promise January, while the last of the apples ripen, and our equines sprout their winter fuzz.

By November, our muddy valley is drowsy, hung over from October’s harvest party. The leaves carpeting the grass begin to dissolve, the annuals turn to slime, their molecules breaking apart and reforming to be born again as fuel for next spring’s explosion. The earthworms and bugs and slugs and Protozoa munch quietly away. Nature’s cleanup crew. The graveyard shift.

November is over ripe, fermenting, transforming secretly in a cycle as reassuring and perennial as time. Look closely at the branches, tiny buds are already flashing a silvery glint of green, waiting for January’s or February’s or even March’s command to come forth.


November is for resting. For recovering from the adventures and trials of the past year. For storing up reserves of strength, and energy, and plans. For arming us to face the new.

Soon enough, too soon for me most years, December’s equinox will turn darkness’s tide and the days begin to lengthen once again. Then Christmas’ bustle and cheer, and January’s new year, and new resolves and new projects, and before we know it we are plunging headlong through another year. On the journey of our lives.