In our household, the word November has a unique usage. To us it means sadness, the blues. As in, “I have a bad case of the Novembers.”
It’s been that way for about 10 years now, since a series of losses initiated this annual sense of dread. Through the years, the month’s prophetic shadow has continued to prove true.
This past month was no different. Gone are friends, acquaintances, long-time family pets, and still with us are the intractable horrors reported daily in the news.
Loss and sadness.
As a Midwesterner, I see November sketching tree branches starkly against a damp, hovering fog on the verge of crystallization — yet still weeks away from the brilliant snow that redeems the frigid winter months ahead.
Promise.
That’s how I see December.
As a resident of our coastal community for 25 years, I’m reminded of life’s seasons by the unexpected warmth of winter sunshine, the bloom of an orchid, the scent of ripening citrus and that breathtaking blue of the Atlantic, crested with impossibly transparent froth and bordered with dancing, speckled shore birds.
Some ancient internal compass directs those migrating sanderlings and gannets to our shore. It’s no surprise many of us return as well each season — to rest, to refuel and to relive happy memories.
So in turning the calendar page, my wish to each of you is a December filled with the promise of tomorrow. Happy Holidays.
— Mary Kate Leming, Editor
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