November is a magical month.
I had forgotten how golden the light is this time of year in the northern parts of the middle of the west. While most of the brightly colored leaves have fallen to the ground, their warmth is still present like a crunchy carpet. Rich reds mix with browns, oaks, maples, sycamores. There are still a few dots of green, vascular plants preparing for the freeze. Its really the smell that gets me, though. Sweet and earthy. The smell of jumping into piles of leaves, walking home from the bus stop, jean jackets, football games. My childhood comes racing back to me on every inhale.
It has been a long time since I have had November in Indiana. Maybe almost a decade? But no matter how many years have passed, a little walk with my sisters with the wind and the woods around us, laughter in the air, makes it seem like yesterday.