a prelude for november

What a strange October that was. Warm and sunny and smoky; so many people said it was like summer never ended, but that's not quite right, and I can't even decide if it's fair. Is summer the season of smoke, or is that something else, something outside of our concept of the seasons? It always feels so apocalyptic every time it happens, and this year it really took it out of me. I don't want to say that's entirely why I didn't follow through on my writing plans (bad sleep schedule and being busy with other things contributed to that as well), but it certainly made it hard for me to do anything.

But it's November now, and the cold and the rain and the wind have finally come, scouring the leaves from the trees as all the colors begin to fade--and they were brilliant, a relic of our extended sunshine--and the holiday blitz draws ever nearer, which means the year, too, is drawing to an end. It's far too early for a year-end retrospective, but . . . well, time certainly is strange, isn't it?

I was thinking earlier of the time when I was young, playing tee-ball at some event or other in kindergarten. The coach suggested that we imagine the ball as the head of our teacher--obviously this was not a school event--and I was appalled--I liked my teacher and the idea of hitting someone with a baseball bat felt wrong in a way I don't think I could have articulated.

I'm not sure I could tell you what prompted this memory, but it's one of those early childhood memories that's always lingered with me, and I'm not sure I've ever talked about it. Sometimes we look back on our past selves and wonder who we even were, but sometimes the strange mirror that is our past shows us someone we recognize. Of course that kid grew up into someone who feels a lingering sense of guilt when they learn they have accidentally killed a spider.

All of which to say: November has come; the cold and the dark are settling in; and as much as I complain about the holiday blitz, I certainly understand the impulse to seek some refuge from the long grey winter.