Late November

Late November. The earth seems very quiet now, as it waits for winter. The green rush of summer long spent, the gaudy blush of autumn has faded to muted browns. A few passing waterfowl still coast in to rest on the lake, but all the other migrating birds are gone, along with their songs. The jays still call, and so do the ravens or crows, but mostly the forest is silent. A rustle of leaves now and then from a foraging squirrel, and that's about all.

I walk on the beach, seeking the sun to warm my face. But even by early afternoon, the shadows start to lengthen. For the first time this year, I wear a woolen scarf to comfort my ears.

Driving home from Moreau along Old Saratoga Road, I stop to take in this contrast of sunlight and shadow, mountain and plain.

Behind me, the late sun warms the siding of this lovely old barn, casting the shadows of bare-limbed trees on the weathered planks, while this trio of creatures gazes at me with curiosity.

The animals soon approach the road to eye me more closely, and I return their gazes. The little goat has silky black hair, and the horses are growing thick furry coats. For some reason, seeing this, I feel a great sense of kinship. We're all in this world together. We're all getting ready for winter. And all enjoying the last warming rays of the sun.