the naked month
by bam
i know this makes me something of an eeyore, but i’ve a confession to make: i love gray days. and days and weeks when all the world is stripped of excess, pared back to strictly elemental. when even a smidge of color–save. maybe, for the blood red of a clump of berries–is uncalled for, unnecessary.
i happened to mention that aloud yesterday, in the place where i type on tuesdays, and, oh my, it caused a stir. you might have thought i said something odd, perhaps, something along the lines of, “i like a little gravel in my oatmeal.”
now that gustatory revelation i could see causing a ruckus. but not the fact that the deep soot-to-heather canvas of november is balm to me.
it wraps me, the sunless-ness of these days. it is the woolen blanket of the year lifted from the basket in the corner, draping ’round my shoulders, as i settle deep into my winter chair, my thinking chair.
these are the days when i could be alone for hours on end, but not really alone, as i am out chattering to my birds and squirrel friends. i am out protecting them from cold. tossing corn. pouring water into shallow bowls. smearing peanut butter onto tree bark so they can peck it off, stave off the shivers and the rumbly tummies that i fear for them.
these are the days when the stark poetry of gnarly branch and endless sky open up to me. when all around is naked, bared, stripped of its cloak, exposed.
it is in the few fat fruits–american cranberry, rosehips–left on the bough and thorny stem, and the up-reached arms of oak and serviceberry that i find the combination lock to my imagination–and my most satisfying comfort.
it is jagged silhouette against the charcoal sky that haunts me, rustles me, seeps slowly deeply in.
i look out into tangled labyrinth of branch on branch–interrupted only by unkempt knot of leaves assembled by some squirrel intent on keeping warm–and i understand what november reveals.
we have watched, for weeks now, the slow undressing of the world beyond the sill. there is no hiding in the eleventh month, the one before it gets to be too much, and we battle back the darkness with the kindling of the lights, and the stringing of the branches with all the glitter we can gather.
it is these thirty days, or at least a good long line of them, that beckon us to come inside, to draw in to where the embers burn.
by that, of course, we don’t mean merely shuffling ’cross the mat, settling down at table’s edge.
oh, no.
we mean: do. come. in. take off your shoes. get comfy. now mill about inside your soul. breathe deep. the summer’s done. and so too the autumn, ‘cept for maybe one last spell before the bitterest of cold.
think thoughts that take some time to come to. be not in a hurry, not at all. and don’t be afraid of where the thinking trails.
it’s november. the month when all the world strips down to utter truth. and we, too, might do well to follow suit.
the logs are crackling in the grate, the afternoon is long. the kettle whistles. pages turn. understanding just might be ahead.
make the most of these hours when the light goes dim. make the most of the month when all that matters is undressed, and we are left to study only that which cannot hide.
tinglingly, i find myself coming to deep awakening as the northern world begins its slumber. how about you? what is it about november that captures you, stirs your soul, your thoughts, your deepest hungers?
Just this past gray November Monday, my husband and I were sitting down to a rare weekday lunch together at our kitchen table. As we looked out the window, we spotted a bright red cardinal in our crabapple tree and then another under the tree and then another and another. Six all toll and then of course we noticed the females there too, not so obvious in their drab coloring, but there they were too all six of them. A cardinal luncheon party happening in our very own backyard! I think the bright red against the gray November day was a wake up call to pay attention to all the little things and the reward for being watchful is the delight you feel in such a simple thing.
………as leaves fall to the ground what is revealed is pure sculpture to me. All the branches and nakedness of the earth is exposed, , be it a plowed field, or a garden left to fall in on itself,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, then wait it gets even more refined,defined and divine when the snow falls on these sculptures of the earth. Sit back and watch the show, the out of doors is still ever changing. Welcome to the outdoor sculpture show now thru March 2009. Admission – just your imagination.
em, i love the outdoor sculpture show, with new layers still to come in the form of what falls from the heavens. and hh, i wonder if those same six cardinal pairs are the ones i’ve spotted here, miles away. is there anything as heartstopping as cardinal red among the gray on gray……..
i have always found the winter sky to be dramatic and infused with a quiet, melancholic, beauty. i love bleak days, i really do. summer, as full and gorgeous as it can be, exhausts me after a while. fall comes as a welcome breath of fresh air, and i enjoy the slide down into the dark, reflective days of winter. i need that time to draw myself in, to settle in and perhaps hibernate just a bit. i have noticed that every year in november and december i become even more reflective, and i think it must have something to do with the season.so, amen to this. i would not have argued with you, only nodded my head in understanding.
Without knowing, you wrote this on my birthday (50th!) and perfectly expressed what I’ve always loved about this stripped-down and architectural time of year . . . the calm interiority (is that a word?) of the season . . . the time when we should all pull up a chair, alone or together, and delve deeply into what matters. Thanks so much for your beautiful words.
I too am sitting and “being” in the quiet that has begun to envelope this part of the world. Perhaps it is the midwestern spirit in us….or the strong pull nature has to carry us all along with her very particular and regulated mood cycle. What does one do in other parts of the world where it is forever green and flowers bloom all year? Is there still a cycle inside them even if mother nature is not there to nudge it along?
one more thought – As mother nature undresses…we sure have to start adding layers of clothes. And now I am off to walk the dog – well layered.
what a picturesque post. i love grey days, too. and seasons that challenge me to see the subtle beauty in the dim light and soft tones all around me. i never grow weary of living in a four seasons locale. aren’t we lucky?
earth girl terra….you might not be back to find this, but i just found your birthday post, and wanted to wish you a late but sumptuous birthday wish…….maybe it is the gray months that speak so fully to the late autumn/winter babies among us. maybe it is our natural born hibernation traits that are drawn to the fore. from this side of the half-century mark, let me tell you every day is rich. even when it’s a struggle. welcome to the other half. love, b