After a pleasant intermission from writing, November seems a fitting occasion to return to my journal. Autumn is well underway, the clocks have changed, and the season offers plenty of inspiration for reflection.
There is something peculiar about our annual custom of rearranging the clocks, as though time itself might be persuaded to accommodate us. The sun, of course, pays very little attention to such arrangements. It continues on its course, leaving the rest of us to settle into the rhythms of a new season.
Yesterday morning, we were given the gift of an extra hour. With it comes the earlier arrival of evening, a change I’ve always appreciated.
I remember fondly the autumn mornings of my childhood, waking for school in our modest two-bedroom farmhouse and “bundling up,” as my parents would say. Our home sat in a heavily wooded valley, reached by a long driveway that rose over a little hill before curving toward the county road. Each morning began with a drive down that wooded path to meet the school bus.
The ride lasted well over an hour, and I remember watching the countryside awaken through the windows. The sun rising over the hills, fog lingering among the trees, frost glistening on fallen leaves, and little clouds of breath appearing in the cold morning air.
There was one stop, not far from my own, where three children had a remarkable habit of running late. I can still picture them hurrying down their long, wooded driveway, calling out as the bus prepared to leave. Sometimes they made it just in time; on other mornings, the driver had already continued along the route.
Now, you may wonder why, of all the things worth remembering from childhood, I’ve devoted a portion of this article to three children who couldn’t seem to catch the school bus on time. A fair question, and one I’ve considered myself.
But that’s the curious thing about memories, isn’t it? We seldom get to choose which details remain with us.
I remember looking forward to the cozy autumn decorations awaiting us in our classrooms, along with that little pang of homesickness that accompanied me through the school day until it was time to board the bus for home.
November still holds that same affection for me. Fog settles over the countryside, overcast afternoons soften the landscape into muted colors, and deep orange and red hues stand against silver skies. Then comes one of those glorious, crisp autumn days when sunlight illuminates every remaining golden leaf.
The Art in Ordinary Days
Ecclesiastes 3:1 reminds us, “To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven.”
It is a passage that lends itself beautifully to a subject I hold dear: the art of living deliberately.
What does it mean to live deliberately? The answer will look different for everyone. For some, it may mean pursuing ambitions with enthusiasm, seeking adventure, or cultivating meaningful relationships. To me, it means taking an active interest in the life unfolding around us. Everything is art. There is artistry in preparing a beautiful meal, arranging flowers, setting a table, or creating a welcoming atmosphere at home. Even the smallest attentions can lend an otherwise monotonous day a welcome sense of occasion.
I’ve always appreciated the minutiae of everyday life. The way afternoon sunlight falls across a room, the fragrance of something simmering on the stove, or the way a loved one’s eyes light up when speaking about something that excites them.
With November upon us, I make a point of enjoying the outdoors while the daylight lasts. I believe it’s important, even when the skies are overcast. Sometimes a stroll is in order; other afternoons, a book or a little writing provides the perfect excuse to settle somewhere with a warm drink and enjoy the scenery.
Most of us know that natural daylight plays an important role in regulating our circadian rhythm, working in concert with the pineal gland and melatonin to influence our sleep cycles. Enjoying daylight during the day and limiting bright screen exposure before bedtime can help support these natural rhythms. The science behind it deserves a post of its own, which I will get to, but for now, I’ll simply say that I consider time spent outdoors as a worthwhile part of the day.
When the Evening Comes
November weather can be delightfully unpredictable. One afternoon may be perfectly suited to a stroll through leaf-covered streets, while the next might be reminiscent of Lake Superior, “when the gales of November came slashin’.” – The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald, Gordon Lightfoot (1976), a personal favorite. On those afternoons, I’m perfectly content to admire the scenery from the comfort of a warm room.
I’ve always loved the atmosphere of a warmly lit home after sunset. Lamps glowing softly in the corners, candles in the windows, something wonderful simmering on the stove, and music playing in the background. An evening spent playing chess, watching a good film, or visiting with folks is an evening well spent.
Outside, the trees surrender the last of their leaves, and the air carries that unmistakable autumn chill mingled with the scent of wood-burning fires drifting from chimneys. Inside, our homes become cozy little dens. I picture a family of foxes nestled together in their woodland home, perfectly content while frost settles over the forest above.
There is something especially comforting about the traditions that return with each season, gathering a little more history and sentiment with every passing year. I wonder how many moments from today will become the memories we cherish tomorrow.
Perhaps that is the art of living deliberately: giving our days the same thought, care, and appreciation that we so readily give to life’s most memorable occasions.
Ecclesiastes 3:11 tells us, “He hath made every thing beautiful in his time.”
What a lovely message to take with us into the darkest months of the year.
Wishing you a beautiful and enjoyable November, in all its many shades.
