November

High clouds touched pink by an early sunset
Snow fields on high peaks and ice pockets on north facing sides of trees
Dry grass and leafless branches, the warm musty smell of decay
A cool breeze welcoming dusk
The day’s precious warmth dispensed to night’s cold grasp
Early light of planets in transit, the rising, shifting cosmos
Does the cold bring the stars closer for warmth?
It seems to

Quiet
A hushed gentle stillness to the trails and woods
That recent memory swears only recently teemed with raucous life
Slumber, migration
The end of bright colors, vibrance, song
A rush to shelter before the snows of winter
To lie low until it all blows over

Death, the other side of life’s brief arc
Called into relief with every naked tree and shriveled leaf
A season to remember the imprint of what once was
To recall the greenfields of youth, hillsides bursting with floral bounty
The flight of bees and birdsong in trees
Stands of aspen swaying on a gentle breeze
Touched by a reverent hand

We welcome the reveal each year
Birth, life, beginnings
The fortune to again see a summer dawn
And yet before the cycle can start again the prior one must come to end
Summer’s faded glory now a dying ember
A landscape chilled and stark
November.