November Feeling

Every year, every month, each day of our life is different, though it consists of the very same things we are used to doing. The festivities, the commemoration days, the holiday periods are there so we can change the mundane and at the same time they build a path of certain stability, something that waits for us always at the same time of the year. The mixture of repetition and change. Change that implies curiosity, expectation, thrill, pleasure but also fear of losing, of not getting there or going backwards. Stability that implies peace, effortlessness, pleasure, feeling of control but also fear of stagnation, boredom, spiritual death. I always used to love November for all this – the ambiguity and the opposites brought into harmony. The rainy and dark days and the warm light of candles and street lamps. The cool air and the hot tea after a long walk. The fog in the morning and the distant sun at the lunch time. The cold lakes we enjoyed in the summer that still welcome ducks and swans for a splash. The colourful leaves that dance their last dance with the wind and then land quietly on the ground in order to decay. The silence of emptiness at the cemeteries and the hope for eternal. The remembering and letting go. The sadness but not despair. The fireplace and cracking of the wood that diminishes in front of your eyes. The warmth that stays after it is gone. The films with happy endings and the life stories with or without happy endings. The slowness of the time and the speed of days, months, years passed. Everything changes only the November feeling stays the same…

Alexandra´s blog on Little things that matter

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November has always been the month of leaves falling down, rain falling down, the earth evaporating its characteristic smell. November is the dark early in the morning and in the afternoon, the strange melancholy of street lamps that shine on people walking quickly. They are wrapped in their coats and look down not just because they want to avoid rain puddles.
It is the time of All Saints and the gatherings at cemetery where lie the beloved ones or the ones we have never met but are linked to us by whatever story.
Coming and going. The life cycle.

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