November and me -- good and grey around the edges

It's a bogus invention, day light savings time. But in June, you won't hear any complaints from the likes of me.

That extra hour in the garden and on the river – that's the beating heart of summer itself. It makes my office servitude almost bearable to know that the real, green world, and the sun that makes it so, will linger in the sky well past 9 p.m.

Tonight, the calendar pulls the rug out from under this charade. In Michigan, the sun respectfully reverts to the creator’s timetable. It’ll be dusk at 6 p.m. come Sunday evening.

To mentally prepare, I took the dog out for a three-mile walk tonight in what tweedy poets once called the gloaming.

The woods along the road were hushed, as only they can be in November (at least until deer season starts on the 15th ). It’s a lovely month, November, and greatly undervalued. The whole thing merits a true thanksgiving, not just an over-stuffed observance and consumerism feast day. The gaudy flourish of autumn has faded, scattered now around the trees like confetti in the streets after a Mardi gras party. November’s dominant hues are grey – but a good grey, steadfast and serene. November knows that there’s nothing left for the year to prove.

The dog and I drank all this in, but it was dark by the time we turned back and headed home to supper. Yet it was a comfort to see the grey still there.
It had seeped from the woods to the sky above, now pricked with stars. It was the grey sky that made the tree limbs appear black as they stood in bony-fingered silhouette against the endless canyons of universe overhead. I suppose what we perceive as grey comes from the ambient light that's reflected light by mother Earth. Good thing whoever’s in charge of light years doesn’t have to factor in daylight savings time.

Overall, I’d still rather be smallmouth bass fishing – or sweating out my workday toxins in a garden verdant with sun-warmed tomatoes and the sweet snap of green beans.

But for now, I’m content to savor the now. If I can’t be as profligate with the sunlight as I am in summer, maybe that’s not all bad. I’ve let myself get too frayed around the edges this year, with more effort than output to show for it. A good and grey November, as becalmed and reflective as an old monk, may be just the color I’ve been been looking for.