I am in a November state of mind today. The sky hangs bleak and grey as sheets of rain create frigid puddles on the pavement below. Trees stretch skeletal branches towards the suffocating clouds as we huddle indoors, all the lamps turned on to push against the too early darkness. I want to curl up on the couch, swathed in blankets and warmed by endless cups of tea and leave this wet, cold month behind, lose myself in the pages of a book. I want to be transported to another world, another place. I want to be someone else for an afternoon. Somewhere else for a precious few hours. I want to escape into the ease of being a reader- devour another’s words. Instead, I plod forward to find my own on this sombre November afternoon. Pray that I will turn the characters and setting that swirl in my brain like the clouds that envelope the tall cedars gracing the flanks of the mountain I reside on into something that resembles a novel. Ideas are muffled and quilted- drowned out by the sound of the falling rain. I stagger on as my feet keep sticking in the squelching mud. Hands flutter in front of me, moving mist, searching for words, grasping at slippery story lines. I Attempt to make out the forms of people in the dusky blurriness. Someday, the sun will come out- great gift that it is- and this elusive story will stand in stark relief, like the photo of a happy scene on a summer day. I will be surprized but recognize everything in this photo and this November state of mind will burn off, forgotten in the sun.

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