November Days

After five days of nonstop rain, I simply must go outside. I bundle up, slip my hands into my gloves, walking briskly toward the nearby woods. The November morning has a bite; it nibbles not-quite-gently at my cheeks and ears. Early November brings with it the last sun of the year shining low and coppery over the woods. I stride through heaps of rusty autumn leaves, aching to see beauty dying all around me. I’m alone along the silent, rambling trails save for the crows and house sparrows bobbing from hedge to hedge. I pause. An exquisite melancholy seemed to hang over the landscape. I glance around noticing that the trees are standing perfectly still, all sticks and bones. Without their leaves, how lovely they are, spreading their arms like beautiful dancers. The autumn breeze gently tousles their bare limbs. They sway to and fro, dancing graciously accepting they’re in their November days. I am in the November of my days when life has swayed me to and fro a season when leaves of red and gold swirl ‘round ankles that had traveled miles love and loss, starts and finishes behold souls a-plenty, those who’ve come and gone