|Just before Super Sandy huffed and puffed and blew the rest of the leaves down.|
And unexpectedly beautiful with her 50 shades of brown, tucked in so neatly under the puffy, thick, gray quilt of sky.
And she's well put together. Her dried up gray milk pods are the same color as the sky.
The beauty of the bare silver birch trees reflected on the surface of the dark pond takes you by surprise. As does the patchwork pattern of brown on purple, purple on brown, across the surrounding hillsides, defiantly proving that even impending death, complete dormancy, can be beautiful.
November hides nothing. How could she when she's been stripped totally bare naked. Down to bark and pulp.
And she makes no promises. She knows better. She knows she is pretty much the end of the line. Just one more month to go behind her before it all starts over again.
I never thought I would say this, especially after the frighteningly listless past few weeks I've had, but I am actually looking forward to seeing, feeling, what kind of cosmic shift November brings.
I use this new-age language, not my mother tongue, because the shift is already happening.
November 1st was a hellish, snot-infested, all-over body aches and chills, generally depressing affair, complete with an uninsured dentist appointment where I learned I need to have a crown replaced. (I've been ignoring my broken tooth for months.)
A crown. For the whopping price of, yep, you guessed it, just about the total that Christmas was going to cost back before I learned Christmas might not be coming this year. Well, not the kind of Christmas my kids are hoping for, the kind with beaucoup presents.
Sorry kids, I'll say, flashing them my shiny new gold crown, mommy was the only one to get anything sparkly this year. I'm exaggerating, kind of, but if anyone had told me I would one day, in my mid forties, shudder with financial terror at the thought of an unexpected dental procedure, I'd have ignored them.
"Oh don't be such a pessimist,"I would think. "There will always be money. Right."
Maybe not. But, despite the inauspicious start to a normally inauspicious month, each new day of November, and its decided "here we go folks, you didn't actually think we could skip this part, did you?" air, has seen my spirits rise, and lift, and, as of today, practically levitate on a breeze of annoying positivity.
The whole world around me is dead or dying, dried up leaves, skeleton bone trees, crispy grass, not a soul on the street, and definitely not enough money in the bank, yet I am filled, at least today, with that sort of calm self assurance that all is as it should be.
There will be a father in this house, unlike last November that saw us pining pitifully. There will be wood for the fire. There will be less driving around, chasing the frivolous daylight. There will be more layers, and wool and socks, I'm finally ready to accept the reality of socks. There will be more family time. There will be cabin fever, the kind which inspires creativity and hones our dealing with boredom skills.
And, if we know what is good for us, there will be a certain amount of austerity.
And, I'm hoping and guessing, but not promising, there will be more time to write.
I'll leave it at that, for now.
|I've got a feeling this chair will see a lot of action in the coming days.|