Thoughts of November

Author's Note ▼

Contest entry for "The Bard's Hall Contest"  11/2023 1st -15th... Word count 496 excluding author's notes, HTML formatting, pictures, and prompt quote.

The Prompt:

"The month of November makes me feel that life is passing more quickly. To slow it down, I try to fill the hours more meaningfully." A quote from — Henry Rollins:

         Henry's Words inspire me as I scribble across this page.

         Autumn... always a peculiar time for me. The vibrant leaves of summer lose their luster, surrendering to the inevitability of winter. They flitter and float, carried across the yard, on crisp breezes rushing in from the north. They fall gracefully to blanket the ground in red, brown, and yellow, constructing images like a golden kaleidoscope. The chill in the wind whispers the impending bite of the next cool front. One cannot deny the shifting sense of time, hurried and unapologetic, as the season insists, we prepare for nature's next sleep.

         To counter this relentless march of dark renewal, we allow, no, we insist upon celebrating the seeming death of nature's surroundings. Around our hearths and homes, our neighbors decorate their yards and porches. How fun to stroll these avenues and their displays of this last year's bounty. Rectangle bales of cut Bermuda and straw, intermixed are pumpkins, riffs of dried corn stalk, and bunched cobs lay nestled within the displays. Raggedy Ann, her happy mate Andy, and sometimes their little ones, all crafted from bamboo spines, swatches of plaid cloth, and more dried stalks. Their small, white-gloved hands wave at each passerby, drawing attention to their gleeful smiles inviting us in.

         Enthralled by the season's palettes, I paint, channeling the November hues onto my canvas. Each stroke a desperate attempt to capture the transient beauty of the season. Among the vibrancy are small boys chasing each other, tossing armloads of once-raked leaves. Angus, their black Labrador, nipping and tugging playfully at pant cuffs. Oh, how magnificent the laughs and Ah-ha cheers echo through the wide yard. They are a solid remembrance of those same days seventy years ago. Between wipes of my cheeks are images of another grandfather, his eyes locked lovingly upon me. The dog, Prince, a Border Collie, was never far from our sides, my brothers and me.

         Come afternoon, the wife joins my strolls beside Lake Mary. There, we meet more neighbors and share stories of their joys while offering solace in their sorrows. Each interaction of pictures saved on phones and tablets is a testament to the human spirit and life's richness that went beyond the mere clock's ticking.

         Blessed is the gift of autumn, a prelude to the annual celebrations of our faith in family and reassurance of our maker's promises of the New Year's renewals. I relish the feasts and the connections with loved ones: family, friends, and other less seldom-seen kin. The heartfelt reunions stir emotions and the sense of peace and fulfillment that escaped my understanding before these days of yore.

         The hurried life's clock ticks transformed into a rhythmic beat, a gentle reminder of life's ebb and flow. Only now, in my dotage, do I realize time, in its relentless march, isn't an enemy but a companion, guiding me through the different seasons of life. And with this newfound understanding, I will welcome the December chill.