November

A frosty November morning. Tones of brown and gray, mixed with gold.

The days are short. The trees are bare. Hanging at the edges of things is a quietness that speaks of coming snows.

There is the sense of an ending, or at least a long, long sleep. A time of gathering in.

I light a lamp. I cultivate a grateful spirit. I dream of spring.



Soundtrack: George Winston's solo piano masterpiece, Thanksgiving, courtesy of YouTube.