November Thoughts

The colder temperatures that November brings send me to the closet to get my heavier coat.  I sit on the porch, first finding the place where the sun will warm me as I look out over the hill.

My constant companion, the oak tree, now wears little of its autumn finery.  A few bronze leaves hang on it lower branches.  But all below are piles of crumpled,crinkled leaves where birds hunt and find seeds and other things to eat.  A bluebird perches on a limb, high up and lofty.  I don't know what he is looking for, but soon he swoops and flies away seeking a more worthwhile place to hunt for food perhaps.

Silence.  Silence is what I hear.  Gone is the nesting chatter of the spring and early summer.  Even the hawks and buzzards have forsaken my hill for greener pastures and climes. 

The grass lies thick and verdant below me.  And under it I know the mice and little voles are scampering around finding places to hide from the sharp eyes of the hawks.  Pale remains of beautiful summer and fall flowers stand stark and ebon against the blue sky.  The frost of the past nights has put an end to their blooming beauty.  And all that remains are the memories of flaming color and scent.

Deer roam at will at dusk and early dawn.  They bed down in the far reaches, down where the pasture is remote from human eyes.  They venture forth, timidly at times, and sniff the air.  If we stand very still they do not know that we are looking at them.  And then they gracefully walk away, down to the timber where they find food in abundance.

Even the air has the feeling of expectation in it.  The wind blows fitfully at times.  It tears at the scarf around my neck and then moves on  to eddy the leaves that pile around the hickory tree.  Squirrels seem to have found their nests now.  They venture forth every now and then and pick a walnut up, peel it with their teeth, and rush to bury it under the soft and yielding ground.  Will they find it this winter, under snow and rime of frost?  Sometimes they do and then they run back to the cover of the trees to feast on their buried treasure. 

Melancholy seems to tint my horizon at this time of year.  Winter is coming.  Am I ready?  Am I ready to give up the warm comfort of glowing fall days when a sweatshirt was all I needed to keep away the chill of the wind?  Am I ready to see the last glimmer of daylight flee from the slope of the hill, bringing night so soon?  I am such a creature of habit.  I love the longer twilights.  I miss the sweet scent of ripe grass and flowering trees.

November is here.  I mourn the passing of summer and fall.  And still in me there is the sense that winter will bring its own rewards.  Hopefully I look to the tree and know that it will be there in spring, ready to put on  fresh greenery again.  Always there is the promise of better days ahead.  And I am content with that thought.