BEFORE THE SNOW

November is generally considered the dullest, ugliest time of the year. Everything outside is dying if not already dead, the colours are gone, it's dark. But it wasn't until I started spending more time out in the countryside that I noticed it is not that bad after all; I have actually started finding this something of a more quiet, calm time of year, soothing almost*;  like everything is just waiting for what is to come. It is clearly the end of a cycle, the time before nature goes to sleep until it gets the chance to wake up and again. The circle of life you know, bla bladi-blah. But it really is like that, still, faded, waiting.




*(Well, weather- and nature wise that is. Otherwise the hullabaloo of everything is on; the high season for showtime and new acts and Christmas and work and Whoa! Wake me up when the sun is back please.)