November

November

I've lived in the upper midwest now for 18 years and I can honestly 

say that I am only beginning to learn the meaning of November 

around here. I got an inkling a while back, when Maggie explained 

to me that brown is not just brown. Each variety of grass transforms 

with its own signature hue. When the grey skies and rain come, the 

grasses begin to glow.

The bright leaves of autumn have dropped; only a few varieties of 

oak are left with color. Their rusty brown leaves had the patience to 

hold out for a more subtle moment to sing. The sun, low on the 

horizon, knits the harvest and hills together.

~ Hal