November

And so November begins,

pushing the door open gently

and entering, smelling of cinnamon

and cloves and things roasted over the fire,

bringing all of her

stories and memories

and celebrations in with her

 

The birthdays and the changing leaves

drifting down to the earth that

no longer welcomes bare feet to

wander and scamper about

 

The magnificent sunsets and

the brisk breezes that bring

out the scarves and hats

and mittens and fires in the hearth

 

November plays across the days

like a haunting melody,

familiar and comforting,

always known and sometimes sad,

as the days grow darker and the memories

remind us of the Novembers of years gone by

 

and how different they have become

 

Comforted by the rhythm of the seasons

I welcome her in

and offer her a place to be

and while I love her and all her colors

and traditions,

some of her stories are hard

and don’t seem to get any easier with the passage of time

 

Love etched in my heart

our stories intertwined

names etched in stone,

the echo of laughter and

the silence of last breaths,

tears of welcome and tears

of letting go

and now

the tears of remembering

 

The pages of the calendar will turn

and the days of November will pass

and she will take her leave as

demurely as she came in,

backing out and pulling the door to

behind her

 

And I will close her story

and whisper goodbye

until we meet again