November Settles In, Again
Everything’s covered in a foreboding light dusting of yellow pollen
November’s come in, again, like a cozy, woolly afghan, familiar and a bit frayed, worn and nonchalantly thrown over the back of a sofa, right where someone left it.
Along with its waning warmth and flatter, softer sunshine at both end's of the day November’s sky is bright, its air crisp and fresh, alerting us to what’s left of the year. It’s a bit wetter now, triggering the annual awakening of the grubworms that gather just under the sod in our backyard, luring in the racoons who nocturnally roam the neighborhood, rolling up the grassy lawns like flimsy throw rugs then feasting upon the creamy-white delicacies beneath them.
Everything outside’s covered in a foreboding light dusting of yellow pollen pushed out by all the pine trees along the streets. The leaves falling from all the other trees expose bare branches, abandoned bird nests and the symmetrical rows of small holes in the bark on their trunks made in the Spring by red-breasted sap suckers. Mornings are slower, now, as we brace against frosty wee hours, late afternoons are quieter as life moves indoors, even the crows seem to know it’s time to calm down and find shelter. Evenings come sooner, too, and windows light up earlier with that end-of-the day glow. All seems so peaceful and serene, until you remember how obscene we are to each other in so many corners of the world, including here in virtually every crevice of our country. Many, near and far, will give thanks in a few weeks, while many others will ask ‘what’s there to be thankful for?’