The November Woods

And ginger tea.

The November woods is sparse where the October woods was impenetrable. Bare branches create a haze from the distance and the vulnerable earth is almost visible but for the leaves blanketing it. The river cuts through the middle, dark and wide. In the summer it reflected the blue above it like a sky portal slashed into the land but now it is tannin stained, root beer brown. It contrasts the beige tangles of grass on its banks, once wild-flowered, still populated by fishermen and their small aluminum folding chairs. Without the buffer of leaves I worried that the woods would lose its sense of sanctuary, but I needn’t have. As soon as the path dips below street level the road sounds fade and there is that feeling of having entered a new realm.