Late November is an acquired taste. One must grow to love bare trees and brown leaves. There is an austerity, like bitter coffee or black tea.
Walking among strangers heading home in the evening, faces barely visible, hunched against the cold, we share the camaraderie of wind.
The wind does not discriminate. It blows through all of us, parkas and hoodies, leather jackets and fur coats. We remember the importance of layering. We remember the significance of wind chill.
Now we have a taste for home cooking–hot and spicy stews and split pea soup, red lentils and black beans, chili and onions, sweet potatoes, hot peppers, turmeric, ginger and cinnamon.
And, there’s the traditional Thanksgiving menu–turkey and all the trimmings, too! Bring out the napkins and crystal. We need more light and color. We cannot bear the unadorned for long.
And yet, there is beauty in this bareness–how the last few orange berries stand out against the sky.
Even now, in November, there are swellings on the bare branches, seeds buried under the leaves….
The moon is a bright slice of light. The night is sharp and clear.
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