In November, at winter's gate, the stars are brittle. The sun is a sometimes friend. And the world has tucked her children in, with a kiss on their heads, till spring.
Funny, that I spent all of October blogging about Stillness, when in some ways November is the stillest month of all.
November is the month in which our world prepares itself for the coming winter. Even in the warmer parts of the world, autumn is finally surrendering to the inevitable chill. (You Southern Hempisphere folks? Well. It is a stillness in readiness for explosion of Summer weather, right?? Different, but the cusp of transition still fills us with suspense, methinks.)
I sit here at my kitchen table and watch rain streaking down window panes, watch the last of the leaves swirl past, one last wild ride before ending their days in winter's compost heap.
Sopping, soaking rain is our gift this November day. If the 'world is tucking her children in' in November, then the weather today is the children getting their last drink of water, staying for one last minute the turning out of lights.
Most of us here in the States aren't registering the world being tucked in for the winter - we are focused on cranberry sauce macerating, stuffing ingredients, and perhaps anticipating long drives ahead.
And yet these busy preoccupied times are the very best moments in which to take a moment of Still. To register how quickly the world outside changes, how suspenseful the natural world is, ready to head into the next season.
This Thanksgiving holiday, please, take the time to be thankful for your family, for your warm house, for your Thanksgiving meal. But here's a little challenge for you: find also the time to stand quietly at a window, and be thankful for the leaves that swirl past. Be thankful for the dying grass, for the soaking rains.
Take a moment to be thankful for the profound gift of Stillness in the natural world. It has the potential to teach us everything.
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