I spend most of November reflecting. Cooler temperatures. Falling leaves. Cozy blankets. Warm drinks. November is spent walking through forests, nestled on porches, driving through tunnels of color. Before the holidays fill the world with noise, it’s my favorite time for reflection.
Reflection on the year. Reflection on seasons of change. Reflections on who I once was and who I want to be in the coming months. Sometimes I turn on quiet music and just look out the window. Sometimes I read and journal. Sometimes I keep a gratitude list. And I confess, as a writer, there is no better time to just cozy up on my couch with a cup of coffee and a pen and write some poetry. As if the falling leaves are begging for words to fall forth as well.
So pass on this post if you want, or if you want to share in my reflections and perchance add your own, please grab a cup of coffee and pull your feet up under the blanket. Take a deep breath and journey with me into the beauty of this month.
November.
The sky. The trees. The sun.
All dripping with thanksgiving.
And the wind blowing lullabies
to a fading year
slowly,
gently,
falling asleep.
The leaves drained of light
now sparkle with frost,
warming the earth
with colors of fire
until the daylight
finally
closes its eyes.
And somewhere between
tricks and trees
we take a deep breath
of crisp,
smoky,
Autumn air,
and exhale
golden threads of
gratitude.
Gratitude for
houses now homes,
memories now frames,
noses now freckled,
fingers now ringed,
bellies now bumped,
dreams now walking
in the full light of day.
Gratitude for
summer pools,
lazy.
Long ago drained and left for the traveling geese.
Spring bouquets,
faded.
Long ago returned to the earth to warm winter’s feet
Icy noses and
wet mittens.
Long ago dried by the fire and tucked into closets.
Gratitude even
for
failures and faults,
gardens and graves.
For tears bathing
aching hearts
and pooling in wounds
still glimmering red in the late Autumn light.
The ax still warm
from the chopping block.
The ashes still smoldering
from raging fires
within.
Gratitude even for those.
Because gratitude never slumbers.
Neither in sparkling summer days,
nor in deep November nights.
Gratitude is
the fragile thread
woven skillfully
through our blanketed souls
to reconcile the year
and comfort us for the
November days ahead.
