The veil was thin on Halloween but it has now turned into a heavy, woolen shroud for November. It’s a bit itchy as well.
Wrapped around shoulders and pulled tight against the wind, it is made of secrets and dreams and thoughts best left unspoken. I am protected somewhat from the world, insulated in the soft, scratchiness of a woolen world. Only cold pink toes remain exposed and most of the world thinks nothing of treading there. The rest of me, the important parts, remain warm and cozy and somewhat stiff as my back becomes a pillar for a head constantly in thought, in recollection, and back in love with mellow.
November has been a month of reminders. Puffy birds coming home to roost on a humming wire, fat and fluffing wings while they chirp and re-situate themselves. They don’t leave until the task is checked off of the invisible list and yet, more and more arrive every day. The wire sags forebodingly some days but I am mostly able to pluck one of the fat and fluffy chirpers off before the others arrive and the wire will momentarily bounce back an inch. A split second of normalcy.
December will bring snow. I can feel it.
