November 2025 Backyard Bulletin
The December solstice may mark the shortest day, but daylight savings marks the start of the darkness. The darkness: almost a season of its own. I was at the grocery store earlier this month, probably around 5pm, and it was already dark as I gazed out the store's front window. On this particular day, the check stand was having some sort of technical issue, and the cashier was doing a good job of troubleshooting while simultaneously apologizing for the wait. Of course, this is never the sort of thing I'd be upset with an employee for, but there are certainly times of the year when I would feel the urgent flutter of "gotta go" bubbling up as I stood waiting while precious daylight hours dwindled outside.
In September and October, there are infinite tasks and adventures to be completed in the daylight. Daylight becomes a precious commodity, not something to waste standing in a checkout line. But, on this night, I peered out the store window into the serene stillness of a dark night and realized that, for the first time in months, I wouldn't be trying to sneak anything into the final hours of the day because the darkness was already here. The ephemeral beauty of early fall, paired with just enough daylight after work, creates a desire to be everywhere all at once. In contrast, the darkness of November reminds me that here and now is all that ever really exists. November is a deep breath, a cozy night in, and a welcome stillness.