Fall, leaves, fall; die, flowers, away;
Lengthen night and shorten day;
Every leaf speaks bliss to me
Fluttering from the autumn tree.
I shall smile when wreaths of snow
Blossom where the rose should grow;
I shall sing when night’s decay
Ushers in a drearier day.
— Emily Brontë
Where I live, November is typically a dark, dull, and colourless month. The leaves have mostly fallen, days are short, mornings are foggy, and the clouds are low over the hills.
I wrote earlier of my happiness at the early arrival of fall after a hot, dry summer. I love fall. It’s probably my favourite season, and usually I feel sad when the colourful fall leaves are gone and we settle in for a month or more of dull, grey weather before the snows arrive. But this year, I find myself enjoying November, savouring the early evenings, the cool air, the shapes of the bare branches against the grey sky. There is something satisfying about seeing things dying off and starting to rot back into soil, something exhilarating about watching the first snowflakes tumbling from the sky and walking in the first snow, something refreshing about breathing the crisp air.
Somehow, more things seem possible these days. I feel more like creating, and writing. Neither fall nor winter, November is a liminal time of year, a time of change and transformation. Although it may seem odd or even wrong to speak of singing “when night’s decay / ushers in a drearier day,” somehow that is exactly what I feel like doing.
What is your November like?