November is a month I am, well, let’s say that I’m hard on November. It’s one of those in between months that can’t quite decide what season it is. It swirls with chill and drizzle. Some mornings awake brilliant with frost while others are simply dingy. November colludes with its brother month, March, to make days short and dreary and cold.

Yes, I may be a bit hard on November.

But, too, months like these offer a sort of romance. Take the last  line of this piece “the place we occupy seems all the world.” While alienating, and lonely, so much hinges on the “we” in the sentiment. Perhaps the isolation is a hermitage where two lovers wile away the dreary hours together.

Trying moments in our lives leave us wishing to be with only one other, where we can seem all the world. November, may you offer such peace even as you smother the sun blow the last few leaves to the damp ground.