Year: 2020

After what may seem a dreary period often aligned with November, the snow comes. It brightens. It is fresh and refreshing. It hides the messy details.

I cannot help but be reminded of Thomas Hood’s poem, November, as I walk through our local wooded areas. November is a liminal time, existing between the colour of September and October, and the elation I feel when the snows arrive [usually] in December. The darkness of the days juxtaposed against the brightness of the…