Late November at South Mountain

Some writing and a succinct video

Am I alone in loving November? The way it reveals the structure of the woods. The permission it gives to be introverted and introspective. The temperatures and light that murmur, yes, stay inside, cook, read.

At South Mountain, November reminds me of the microclimate that exists in this north facing place. There had been flurries in the valley, but nothing that stuck. But here at South Mountain, the snow lasted, just enough to say: What makes this place such a great place to spend the summer, is the very same thing that makes it such a challenge to do so in the winter.

Walking the woods, I take in the extreme verticality of the trees. I notice the moss and the lichen and the rocks. Evidence of the work of birds or insects in dead trees and leaves is apparent. It is oh so wet. Without the leaves and the incessant spring birdsong, the ambient sound is made up of cars and airplanes, with just an occasional chickadee, the rustling of the beech leaves still clinging to their branches, and the ever present stream always making its way to sea level.