When Winter Comes In November

November has its own sort of beauty

Not like early spring or late fall

After the first snow comes, a fine dusting of ice coats spindly branches

Slush fringes roads and buries the newest leaf layer

The air is tinged with the husky scent of frozen tree bark

The blue sky is stained a frigid gray

Forgotten harvests rot and freeze into desiccated shapes

Remaining birds huddle on exposed branches, their melodies hushed by a sharp north wind

Houses become fortresses of ensconce against a squalling evening gale which moans and screams at midnight

A thin sunrise sheds weak morning light on slumped dormant hills

The green mountains shimmer with the second snowfall encrusting the ruddy brown, revealing the national colors of early winter.