11.04.17

“November is usually such a disagreeable month…as if the year had suddenly found out she was growing old and could do nothing but weep and fret over it.”–L.M. Montgomery, Anne of Avonlea

This is not how I ordinarily feel about November.  But, after the twelve-hour drive home from the Oregon coast, and savoring that afternoon spent reading a book on the beach, it felt very disagreeable to come home, just before dark yesterday, to this early snow and cold.  In the week away, we walked through glorious flaming red and yellow leaves in Spokane’s historic South Hill neighborhood, just before dusk.   We ran the trail along the Deschutes River in Bend, under a brilliant blue sky, and every shrub and bush along the water was gold or purple, with the Sisters volcanoes covered in bright snow.  At our little cottage by the sea, in the village of Gearhart, Cape Cod homes were decorated for Halloween with pumpkins nestled among the red geraniums, and pink and yellow dahlias poked out between the weathered slats of cedar fences.

I feel cheated out of November.   I love the Andrew Wyeth pale and weak yellow light, and the lone red leaf that desperately clings to its thin branch and twirls in the wind.  I love the cold dark rains and the foreboding sense in the woods that Winter’s wolf is at the door.  As I look at the weather forecast in the weeks ahead, I think there’s a good chance that the snow we have now will never leave the ground until Spring.

Nevertheless, it always always always is so good to come back home.  I let the kitties into the living room to sit with me, and we snuggled in wool blankets and waited for the house to warm up.  Looking out to the darkening sky, I had forgotten that beautiful blue color which only happens when there is snow on the ground.  As if time has stood still, our wicker furniture arrangement, now dusted with snow, is frozen on the porch, and I could see how the red metal lanterns will look lovely inside on the mantle, amidst evergreens and tiny glowing candles, and I visualized the green wicker plant stand, just outside the living room windows, filled with lighted boughs and red berry branches.   In the middle of the night, the full moon gave “the lustre of mid-day to objects below”.  But, I am jumping way ahead of myself…I grieve, I grieve,  for November.