I like spring, but it is too young. I like summer, but it is too proud.
So I like best of all autumn, because its tone is mellower, its colors are richer,
and it is tinged with a little sorrow. Its golden richness speaks not of the innocence of spring,
nor the power of summer, but of the mellowness and kindly wisdom of approaching age.
It knows the limitations of life and its content.
Well, here we are in November…or as I call it, the lost month. Oh sure, we all know Thanksgiving falls at the end of the month (for those of us in the states), but judging by the music/decorations in the stores and the television commercials, it’s already the Christmas season.
I suppose it’s because Thanksgiving has little economic impact. There isn’t much to buy and no gifts are exchanged. So it becomes just a little speed bump on the way to the holidays.
November…the leaves have been stripped from the trees in middle Missouri. And the ones on the ground have lost their luster. Few flowers are left in the gardens and fields. The harvests are almost all stored. The color palette turns to browns, siennas and ochers. Quiet falls around us in November, and wraps us in solitude and introspection.
But there is still much to see if we look closely. Seedpods, thistles take on new details.
Ornamental grasses bloom with their whisper soft plumes.
And the flower that looked like this a few weeks ago now takes on new attire, which you can see in my featured photo at the top.
November is wisdom personified in the somber reflection of the year’s beauty and bounty.
Linking up with Flower Art Friday