Carol Jane Remsburg
September seemed to come ahead of schedule simply because August vanished before I was ready to even address July. When October came I thought I was ready for it. Of all the twelve months, October is one I like to savor. It seems that it lasted for all of maybe twelve minutes. Suddenly November has arrived.
Of the twelve months only about three, February, March, and November seem to go awanting. While November does give host to the Thanksgiving holiday and seems the prelude to the Christmas holidays it is indeed more than that.
On a good year, the weather holds back on the dismal and dreary while each of us is aware that time is short. All too soon the skies will turn a surly gray, the temperatures will plummet, and the winds will seem never to cease. The trees of the deciduous variety pack it in until the following spring profusion of budding madness. Gone are the vibrant colors and the shushing, crackling of their castoff leaves underfoot. Gone too is that fleeting fragrance of their passing, that woodsy-nutty-crunchy smell of freshness. The heaviness of humidity has been blow away leaving behind only lightness in our hearts.
It takes a mental shake for many of us to push aside the dregs of our work-a-day world, the football schedule, and the about the house duties to recognize the nearing of November and to appreciate her presence. November works harder than any other month to help us make the transition from backyard barbecues to bubbling pots atop the stove. November greets and embraces us. She has the kindly spirit to ease us into and away while shielding us from the truth. November keeps her saddened, leadened skies until late, late in the month and almost her departure. She's loath to let us go into the coming of the dark and into the colder, fiercer weather.
Wreathed in her early vibrant colors of flame, November is exhilarating. By mid-month she's made us accepting of our fate. And come late November, she's the stepping-stone into winter. All this November does with care, finesse, and more than just a touch of love.
As chill as the wind that blows, November does care for us. She hurries us along our paths pleading us to make ready our winter nests. Yeah, November is the "grandmother" of the months. A little push here and a little push there and we find ourselves ready to face whatever Old Man winter will hurl at us. Without her, we'd be so like the grasshopper and not the ant.
The nearing of November is a season with a reason. Be ready. Be safe. Bless us all.