November 1.
There is a peace in my soul when this month arrives. For me, it welcomes the quiet that has patiently waited for its role as lead. It waited through the births of spring and through the playfulness of summer. It crept a little closer when fall arrived but knew to wait still, through the joy of September and hues of October.
Now it can sit next to us.
To me, November is seasonless. Autumn, yes, but more brittle. Trees are sticks, and the frost will visit, perhaps even frequently. But, it’s not quite winter. Winter is baby blue and white. That’s still some ways off. There is a comfort in its lack of definition. It can surprise you, like today, when the sun gloated and the temperatures reached 70. Or, it can slick the sidewalks, remind you to walk gingerly, and redden your ears. There is the promise of gathering and rest toward its end, without the burden of glitter and gifts. November gives more permission to be still, to do nothing. Its gift is its quietness and its lack of arrogance.
In the days to come, there will be updates. All kinds of joy, like puppies and 70th birthdays and plans for trips.
But for today, just quiet.
