{November Cat ~ Arkadious}
{November Mix ~ matthew stephen edwards}
{Dvine Dahlia in Sephia ~ Deborah S-C}
{November 2, 2011 ~ Flood}
{November 1939 Fashion ~ christine592}
{Pheasant ~ Bird Photographer}
{November Rose ~ donsutherland1}
{Sepia squirrel ~ Grandma Tina}
{reflecting ~ Flood}
{Vintage Bike ~ canadianandrew}
{All images above are from Flickr. To learn more about a specific image, please click on its title to be taken to its respective Flickr page.}
Depending on whereabouts you live in the Western hemisphere, this point in the month might mean that you're still enjoying the last few enchantingly beautiful days of amber hued light and freshly picked autumn fruits and vegetables, or that you're already knee deep in a mini mountain of snow.
For many reality lies somewhere between the two. The days are neither sun-kissed now snow-covered, instead they're soft grey, mousy brown and nippy, as the sense that winter is fast approaching grows stronger which each pale sunset and frosty morning.
As a child I recall November often feeling like a long month. My beloved Halloween had come and gone and I knew it would be another twelve month stretch until it returned. At the same time, I was eager for Christmas, which seemed eons away when viewed through the eyes of youth. November meant heavy coats, snow boots, the sombreness of Remembrance Day, turning on the indoor heating again, and secretly starting to compose my little Christmas wish list in my head.
All of those points still ring true today, though I now view the countdown to Christmas as being far too short for everything I need to get done in time (no matter how early in the year I start). I've never disliked November the way some people (understandably) do, and in fact, the older I get, the more I've come to appreciate and enjoy it.
November is the last full month of autumn; its day may be short on sunlight, but they often still include signs of the vitality and beauty of the earlier months of the year. A few verdant blades of grass poking out between the faded yellow ones, a violet hued wildflower clinging for dear life to the side of the road, or an apple still swaying on the branch remind one that November is like the great divided between the sizzling and freezing halves of the year (well, at least here in Canada).
It's a serene month (if we brush aside thoughts of holiday prep work), and one that I've always adored taking lengthy walks in. I know that very soon the mercury will plummet far below freezing for the next few months and thus long walks (on slippery snow encrusted paths and sidewalks) will become a rarity until the first days of spring immerge once more.
November is quiet and strong, unassuming yet far from passive. It brings with it a certain nobility and elegance, and its palette - though less jaunty than that of September and October - is soulfully beautiful, endearing itself to my heart year after icy wind kissed year.
