"Autumn is a classical music, when it begins, the gravity disappears."
~Mehmet Murat ildan
November ... with uncanny witcher in its changed trees. With murky red sunsets flaming in smoky crimson behind the westering hills. With dear days when the austere woods were beautiful and gracious in a dignified serenity of folded hands and closed eyes ... days full of a fine, pale sunshine that sifted through the late, leafless gold of the juniper trees and glimmered among the grey beeches, lighting up evergreen banks of moss and washing the colonnades of the pines. Days with a high-sprung sky of flawless turquoise. Days when an exquisite melancholy seemed to hang over the landscape and dream about the lake. But days, too, of the wild blackness of great storms, followed by dank, wet, streaming nights when there was witch laughter in the pines and fitful moans among the mainland trees. What cared they? Old Tom had built his roof well, and his chimney drew."
L. M. Montgomery
November is almost over, but I am already missing it. It has been, well, absolutely stunning! Almost as delicious as October, and I can't even believe just how much I mean that!
~Me
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