So here we go again. November is as reliable a visitor as are Mondays, and today we have the Daily Double dose. I do not like November, Sam-I-am, thirty days Ad Nauseam. Daylight savings has been repealed again, as the clock-tenders try in vain to arrange the failing sunlit hours into a passable day. Try to make a suit of clothes out of a handkerchief.

The darkness gathers. As does the chill. We grope about as though on a perpetual Metro platform with the thought of springtime as far off in the empty tunnel as the next train at 1:30 am. The granite bench, lonely, cold and hard. The escalator, the only one of the three that is working, grinds round and round, with only the occasional lost and inebriated fellow passenger joining you in your loneliness.

Let’s try looking at the upside, and see how many sentences I can go at that before lapsing! Fall is the time for warm sweaters and hot soup! And harvesting your apples and marveling at the bounty of the barrels o’er-brimming in the Root cellar. Thanksgiving! Thanks for another growing season past, and provisions to last the winter in your cozy thatched bungalow, sleeping with the cattle and sheep you have invited in for their warmth. And the warmth of the fire and hearthstone and pot of boiling entrails or whatever the hell is in there. You sit in your easy chair with your twenty hens and gaze out the web-encrusted pane at the blasted landscape of frozen trees and shivering squirrels and should you invite them in TOO? What is this, the ark? Send out a dove to look for a green sprig. It will come limping back on frozen, brittle toes with an empty candy wrapper from Halloween, the holiday that gets the season right.

But nothing is simple, it turns out. I wrote the above on Friday during a dizzlestorm. That was followed by a exquitely, dazzllingly, breathtakingly beautiful weekend that completely spoiled my bad mood.