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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

An early morning fog curls around the mountains and blankets the fields with fresh dew.

Warm wind blows through the trees, and bright leaves flutter, then are tossed away.

The egg yolk of a sun had already dripped away

City lights peppered the peninsula, breaking up the hard outline where land meets air

The lake was a placid raspberry colored mirror of the rainbow sunset, fringed by indigo night