The Light of Shoulder Season
Scrunch, scrunch, scrunch go the leaves underfoot, the dry husks swallow each step as I trudge along. I swing my leg in an exaggerated fashion, kicking up oak and maple in a childish cloud, only to watch them fall again. It's just me and the bluebird sky, cracked by bare branches stretching arms towards the day. The sun is warm but the air has teeth, a layer of ice at its edge. A deep breathe in leaves the smell of frost on my upper lip – sharp, thin, and laced with silence.
November is shoulder season. And with our no-nonsense New England shoulders tightly tensed, we begin to turn our faces towards winter, leaving one foot stubbornly planted in fall. Pumpkins still linger stoopside, but they wake in the morning sporting caps of white. The skeletal trees still manage to mask the sinking sun and cars rush home like Cinderella, the fading of the day closing the door on our best intentions.
November is a liminal month. The heavy tide of hibernation tugs at our ankles, while the dam between holiday magic begins to give way. We sigh. We casually extrapolate about the weather. And we resign ourselves for what's to come. Thanksgiving arrives to break the seal, bowling us all over with replete hearts and bellies.
November is a scattered overture, a restive serenade before the grand finale. As cold waves crash ashore, we take turns insulating and exposing. Pulling cozy covers up to our chins one minute and throwing wide the door for the crush of family the next. Battening down the proverbial hatches while simultaneously decking them out in glittering lights.
As the shadows of a new year loom closely in the distance, we manage the dark the same way we have since our beginning, shoulder-to-shoulder, huddled together, around the flickering light.
"Those who would look for simple answers to the big questions should go for a country walk on a November afternoon, out where the leaves scuffle, squirrels scurry, jays cry havoc, and the fundamental shape of the hills is now revealed. Feel the earth underfoot. See the sky overhead. Listen to your own pulse, rhythmic to the tides. There are the answers, for those who will feel, and see, and listen." — Hal Borland, Twelve Moons of the Year
Books I'm reading:
Forest Walking, Peter Wohlleben & Jane Billinghurst (nonfiction)
A Field Guide to Getting Lost, Rebecca Solnit (nonfiction)
Go Tell The Bees I'm Gone, Diana Gabaldon (fiction) *Only 50-odd pages left!*
Place we've been exploring: Canoe Meadows, Holmes Road, Pittsfield
Something that gave me pause: Exposure to Morning Sunlight Profoundly Affects Mood, Health, and Nighttime Sleep
November's Playlist >> Shoulder Season
Current Obsessions
**Congratulations to the winner of the email merch giveaway, k.taginski@gmail.com! I will be in touch with details.
Stay in motion,
Tay
taylor@berkshirefamilyhikes.com
