November Magic: Finding Beauty in the Quietest Part of Autumn

There is a point in autumn when the trees stop putting on a show.

The bright leaves have fallen. The pumpkins on the porch are beginning to look a little tired. Outside the window, the branches hold nothing but the sky, and evening seems to arrive before I have decided what to make for dinner.

I used to think of this stretch of the season as something to get through. October had its golden light and little celebrations. December would bring its own glow. November, somewhere between the two, seemed easy to overlook.

Lately, though, I find myself drawn to it.

I like the bare trees. I like turning on a lamp in the late afternoon. And I like looking at my calendar and finding a day with enough room to change my mind about how to spend it.

November has become a month I want to notice rather than hurry past.

The Beauty That Remains

A tree outside my window can look entirely different once its leaves are gone. I notice the bend of its trunk, the branches crossing each other, the old nest I could not see a few weeks before.

There is more to look at than I expected.

On walks, my attention shifts closer to the ground: a few stubborn leaves along the edge of the sidewalk, a dark patch of rain on the pavement, the last bit of color in a garden settling down for the season. Without all that October brightness, small things have less competition.

Some days the sky is simply gray. I do not always find it beautiful, and I do not need to. But I have grown fond of the way a bare branch looks against it, especially when I am heading home to somewhere warm.

November asks very little of the scenery. I am trying to offer myself the same courtesy.

Letting Evening Arrive

The earlier darkness still catches me off guard.

I glance up from what I am doing and discover that the room has dimmed around me. For a moment, I feel behind, as though the day has ended before I have finished using it.

Then I turn on a lamp.

It is such a small thing, but it changes the room. The window becomes dark glass. The corner beside my chair looks inviting again. I start thinking about dinner, or a book, or whether there is time to sit down before either one.

I am learning not to treat every early evening as a problem to solve. Some nights I still have work to finish and dishes waiting in the sink. Other nights, I can let the pace change.

I close the laptop. Find my slippers. Put the kettle on.

Nothing remarkable happens. That is part of what I enjoy.

The Comfort of a Quieter Calendar

There is a particular relief in realizing I do not have to go anywhere. 

No departure time to work backward from. No errands added to an outing because I will already be in the car. No quiet calculation about whether I have enough energy for the plans I made when I felt more energetic.

Just an open evening.

I have not always known what to do with those. Sometimes I would fill them before they arrived. Sometimes I would spend them feeling that I ought to be doing something more interesting.

Now, I try to leave a few alone.

An unplanned afternoon might become a long walk, a little reading, or an hour spent moving things around the house until a corner feels right. It might also become laundry and leftovers. Having less on the calendar does not make every day lovely. It gives me a little more say in what the day becomes.

That freedom feels especially welcome before the holiday season gathers speed.

Living in the House as It Is

November makes me want to be at home, but not necessarily to improve it.

There are always things I could organize, replace, paint, or finally deal with. I can turn a quiet afternoon into a project without much effort.

Sometimes, though, I would rather sit in the room than work on it.

Pull the blanket over my knees instead of refolding it. Read the book on the table instead of rearranging the table. Enjoy a warm kitchen without deciding that everything in the cupboards needs a new system.

I want a home that supports my life, and part of that must mean allowing myself to live in it.

This month, I am drawn to familiar comforts: a favorite mug, something easy simmering on the stove, a dog asleep nearby. Things I do not have to research, shop for, or make into an occasion.

Small Ways I Am Noticing November

I do not want to turn slowing down into another assignment. Still, a few small choices help me pay attention:

• Taking a short walk without needing it to count toward anything.
• Leaving an evening open when I can.
• Turning on a lamp before the room becomes completely dark.
• Making a simple meal I already know I like.
• Reading a few pages without reaching for my phone.
• Looking outside long enough to notice what has changed.

Some days, I remember. Other days, I answer emails until dinner and forget the tea I made.

There is room for those days, too.

Staying Here a Little Longer

Soon enough, there will be more to prepare for. More dates on the calendar, more lists on the counter, more reasons to look ahead.

For now, I want to enjoy this part.

The trees are bare, and I can see farther through them. The evenings come early, and I have a reason to turn toward home. There is less on the calendar this week, and I am resisting the urge to fix that.

Tonight, I think I will make something simple for dinner. There is a book waiting beside my chair, and it will be dark by the time I sit down.

I am looking forward to it.

 Like what you read? Drop me a line – let’s chat over virtual coffee. 

~ Chrystal