November showed up today in full force and emulated the severity of winter and it’s cold. I know that it’s threatening for most, but it brings me to a place of deep placidity that can’t be achieved by any other means. November lays my body on the hearth, so that as long as I am within reach of warmth I am already there. The dark evenings bring regular people to life and give texture to all of my dreams. It foreshadows serene happenings, things like family dinners, cozy snowed in mornings, and the feel of scratchy wool on bare skin.
November extracts buried memories that are significant in as they cause you to sit there and sigh for the wonder of your youth. You remember the few exciting times that you visited your in-town storm house, you remember walking around in circles under the mercury yard light bewildered by the bizarre colors that appeared on your old coat, on your sisters’ faces, and in the night sky. You remember how you were so captive to the sweet of cider and the buttery consistency of hot chocolate that you could never keep patience to let it cool.
November grabs me by the shoulders, shakes me, and forces me to realize the beauty of the people around me, it defines all of the compelling relations that I know. It’s the time of year that walks with me, sleeps with me, and dines with me, not for the sake of itself, but for the sake of me and those folks that I have the pleasure of seeing face to face. November is why I believe in romance, it reiterates the value of relating, it creates a small resplendent glow around women, and it makes her shiny eyes even shinier. The most wholesome things I’ve gained in life I’ve found in the flannel sheets of November.
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