November flutters by as a gold leaf in the cold wind...

How quickly the days turn like the windblown calendar pages in an old black and white film. Today was clear and the sunlight warmed us through the morning windows. Outside the jangle of the windchimes and the cow bell from Meteora remind us that the wind scampers through the neighborhood and the day feels colder as a result. I watch Mar at the kitchen sink and realize how weary I feel leaning back against the wood slats of the dining room chair. We have been going so hard. And even the act of reaching out to each other, hand grasping wrist grasping hand grasping wrist, so we travel together, is wearing. I think of Springsteen's words in "If I Should Fall Behind". That's us, making our paths plain to each other, even in the moments when stresses are chewing at our ankles. We are like runners in a thick forest, having abandoned the idea of being first and continually turning back from the path to untangle one another from the obstacles, to be running together always, to be smiling into each other's eyes, and taking pleasure in the joyful rush of running together. We have both agreed that the destination, the end, will be the same for us all. It's how the race is run. Yes. That's what brings joy. And even weary, she turns to me and reads Zeeba Naybor with laughter in her voice. I run my fingers through the rich black mane of her hair and bring her close to me.

The day is the day we have. And November doesn't pause but flutters on in a shower of golden leaves.




November reflections on love