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Nippy mornings and flaming trees announce her return.  Her attire, the same as remembered, yet startlingly original.  When she unfolds her arms, the years of her generosity come into focus in her lanky shadow and brilliant light.

November gave my mother a child, her third, a girl, with eyes just like her own. November whispered my new name when I became a wife. November sang out in fear and wonder when I was plunged into baptismal water and came out new.

November chills me into wooly sweaters, warms me into throwing them off again, shouts lustily at football games, kindles first fires, surrounds me with huddling friends, insists on cozy celebrations, smells of wood, tastes apple-ly, wrinkles leaves and hands, embeds desire for giving thanks, and summons the vibrant, harvest of life.

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