It's the gray that I love, and the bare branches. I love the unclaimed appearance of the trails and every patch of wilderlands in the November woods, even here at the ever-popular Wild Flower Reserve.
By making the outdoors less appealing to the crowds, November enhances the illusion of remoteness. Solitude isn't the same thing as seclusion, but it will do in a pinch.
There's an otherworldly quality to the November countryside. Except for the rattling of fallen leaves and the chill groan of the wind, there's little noise. Water might still be coursing in the brook, but the birds and bugs are mostly gone. It's a surreal kind of time when senses are dulled, and yet vistas are improved...with only little to see. I love October best of all, but November sounds an echo in my soul. I understand the gray.
No comments:
Post a Comment