Repost from last year:
I see a figure in black, jacket with hood up and pants walking a
black larger dog from the top of my hill. The brown and dull gold with
black pine of the park looms ahead of the figure. The gray sky with
threat of rain envelopes the day. The scene is solitary, yet it is not.
He has his dog and a walk to clear the mind.
I think I despise
November, despite what I wrote the other day. The anemic sunlight
disappears too soon in the evening. Black at six, causing a hunkering
down feeling for a too soon night. Yet, it is a creative time of year,
as death with black bare branches and dull lifeless leaves against a
gray gloomy sky cause a digging down to the words of the soul.
know why the first snow in November causes a delight. White covers the
dull. A heavy snow refreshes a dying landscape, covering the signs of
death. White brightens the day. The snow can stay too long, but the
first one, I don't think of that, only a change.
The days will get
longer again. November only brings a haunting of good bye. I am
grateful, though, for the rest, the creativity of this time of year.