A chill wind blows the yellowing leaves off the trees.  They drift down to the ground like giant snowflakes.  The air is pregnant with the feel of the coming holidays.  Fall has truly come with the sudden drop in temperatures.  November appears as a mirror image of March.  November is the vibrant color of decay while March is the decaying color of about-to-burst-forth Spring.

The birds are at the bird feeder all the time now.  They are not stopped by our presence when we come to fill the feeder or blow leaves under it.  Nothing stops them.  They swoop around the feeder and the surrounding trees like Kamikaze pilots, darting here and there recklessly.  The squirrels are in a frenzy as well, stock piling and burying acorns and walnuts which they will retrieve without fail in a month or so in a snow-covered land.

The trees are most beautiful for me at this time of year, when many of them are bare and a scattering of leaves remain on dark brown branches.   The leaves that remain on the trees blow on the limbs with dainty grace in their precarious positions.  Yet these are the survivors.  The other leaves have fallen and gone the way all living things eventually go.  Most trees have lost all their leaves and they stand in stark contrast against the blue sky, the stormy sky, even the night sky.  They are perhaps most beautiful at night, like arms reaching up to the darkness trying to grab at the stars twinkling between the branches.  Moonlight dances on their limbs.

November is the last glimmer of color and in some places the color seems to be predominantly yellow.  A carpet of yellow lines the woods now.  And now one can see inside the woods, so dark and impenetrable in summer. Some forests have carpets of oak leaves– dark brown tan in color.  Or there are forest paths with variegated colors– vibrant crimsons against yellows and faded greens and tawny tans.  The unmown lawns are now taken over by the spiders and, at moments, one can see a world of webs covering fields that only appear in a certain slant of sunlight.  It is the silent take over of the spiders before the snows come.

The yellow, the brown, the crimson leaves are complemented by the ubiquitous yellow, brown and crimson mums that appear on the roadside near mail boxes, on porches or along driveways.  These tough little flowers withstand frosty chills and stand tall throughout most of November.  Hearty souls and so giving in their colorful, velvety splendor.

Soon the season of lights will begin.  Autumn, as a season, seems the fastest to come and go.  I hold each moment in my hands as a treasure, but the moments all sift through my fingers like grains of sand. Then Christmas comes and fades in a flash, and we are into the Nor’Easter blizzards of January.   Another year is gone.  The years do go faster as you grow older.  We go about living our lives, trying, against our natures, to treasure the good moments.  Now in November, at Thanksgiving, it is our time to say thank you. Inspired by the Native Americans let us thank the earth.  Let us say thank you to the trees for their constantly changing beauty, to the stars for their piercing presence in the night sky, to the leaves for their beauteous colors, to the sun for its life-giving power, to the Spring for its awakening hope, to the Summer for its warm, thriving growth, to the Fall for its bounty, to the Winter for a time of renewal, to the snow flakes for their hushed, white silence that transforms our world, to the animals for their pure souls, to our families and friends for their love, and, lastly but mostly, to the Higher Power of our belief.

Happy Thanksgiving and may you each be blessed with the all embracing, pervasive Love in nature.