What is it about November?
As Charles Kuralt once said, “There is melancholy in the wind and sorrow in the grass.”
Maybe it’s the poignancy of the autumn leaves, falling like the golden words of long-dead poets, that afflicts me this time of year with a strange, sad wanderlust.
I’m incapable of coherent thought or speech. Just blinking seems to require more energy than I can muster. Yet, I crave long walks down untraveled roads, even in the rain.
I finally had to take a break from my lackluster little life. With dog and husband in tow, I played hooky. Delicious deliverance! The rain devolved to a fine mist just perfect for a day trip down some back roads.
Nature rewarded us with a vainglorious display of her fall fashions and entertained us with the ineluctable migration of birds.
The air was heady with the dark tang of new wine.
I could feel my obstinate, unwieldy little mind letting go in response to some deep and kindred chord.
Like falling in love all over again, I remembered….
THIS ONE is the most precious of all moments
