November in Vermont

November, the opposite of spring.

The mountains have been dusted with powdered sugar, there are ghostly wisps of clouds hanging above the foothills, and the valley is a patchwork quilt of all the hues surrounding chartreuse. The leaves that are still hanging on tight are not the brilliant colors of last month, but peachy-amber and thin. When the sky is not gray, it is an icy pale blue, held in place by white and ashen smudges. In my neighborhood, smoke has begun to curl out of chimneys, all bluish gray like that which is left over from making heat.

It's tempting to think of November as dreary- especially if it's compared to the recent past. But if contemplated purely in the present, November has glimmers of glory all its own. Around here, it has a fistful of family birthdays and of course there is the magnificently understated American holiday of Thanksgiving. (But now I'm getting into the future, aren't I?)

Last Saturday, our family put the morning chores off till afternoon and went for a walk. It was the kind of overcast day when one opens the door expecting cold air, but instead the temperature was the same outside and in. We walked to a river along a new boardwalk, over a marsh, and looked for birds. We discovered a meadow path with a circle of granite benches and decided it would be the new setting of future family councils. I cut across the field with the baby in my arms and found rainbow-colored grasses hidden between the tractor tracks. We ran along a windy trail, next to pastures that were done for the season. When the energy was gone, we went home for lunch. It was just the kind of November day I love: subtle, intricate, and peaceful.

What do you love about November?