My Stories || November
As a child I judged you for all the wrong reasons.
You weren't the month in which we began a new term. Where we were a whole year group older with fresh new books to write in, friends to reacquaint ourselves with and timetables and teachers to get used to.
You weren't the month in which I'd become another year older. The month of three-coloured-sponge birthday cake, presents and trips to Alton Towers. With half-term and lie-ins a short while later.
And you weren't the month of advent calendar excitement, of sparkly lights and the subtle smell of pine trees.
You were the month where nothing happened. When Christmas seemed oh-so-frustratingly far away. Where the nights would begin earlier and where drizzle would slide down my bedroom window; both penning me inside and away from my friends.
But now, November is different. I don't mean you've changed. But I have.
Yes, Christmas fever has encroached upon you. Twinkly lights have already appeared and stores were wishing me a Merry Christmas back in October. But you don't care about all that. Because you have your own special magic.
You have the crunchy leaves in thick layers beneath the yellowing sycamore trees. You have sunlight that catches the leaves still left in that fiery breathtaking way. You have blue skies and tingly, frosty mornings where the ground once more crunches underfoot.
You have owls calling to each other. Too-wit one will cry. Woohoohooo comes the reply. Again and again in the enchanted darkness they call.
You have strange noises. A bark. It's not a dog. Is it a fox? No. Too flat. Ah-ha! A surprise. You have muntjacs calling each other in the garden next door. To be spotted in our own garden in the early morning mist.
You have leaves falling, like parachutes, twirling and whirling to the ground, then dancing and skipping round and round on the patio with their friends in delight.
You have strong winds and lashing rain. Every day is different. We snuggle, as a family, by a fire to keep warm. You bring us together.
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