November, is a lovely month.
It sounds of crunchy leaves and thanksgiving greetings.
It smells of warm, hot chocolate and old, old books.
It tastes of cold turkey and yucky cranberry sauce.
It feels like worn out boots and a new, large sweater.
It makes your arms tingle, longing for a warm hug.
It makes your frozen, red nose feel as if it's brighter than Rudolph's.
It's a month of warm, fluffy socks and big blankets.
It's the first month since May you can actually go into a sleep so deep, it's like hibernation.
It's a month of crinkly fires and noisy relatives.
It's a happy, thankful month.
It's the month before the dark, horrible December but after the discomforts of October.
There are no children knocking for candy you don't have.
There are no longer any rotting pumpkins, whose only purpose in life was to be carved then thrown away.
The days aren't yet too short to do much of anything.
The music is good, company is adequate.
It's not sweltering hot nor yet freezing cold.
It's the beautiful month of watching everything that came together in spring, fall apart.
It's melancholy and quite.
It's a month for thinking and reading.
It's a month for singing Christmas Carols at the top of your lungs, a month too early.
It's chapped lips, and dozens of lip balms.
Moisturizer is a girl's best friend.
It's the month to look back at the past year, and wonder how time went by so fast.
Goodbye's aren't here yet, but they're getting nearer.
It's a month to discover new music, and wish you knew how to play the piano.
It's a month to remove the nail polish, and look at your finger nails, raw and real.
It's before the frozen toes, and after sweat buds on the upper lip.
It's time for layering millions of clothes, and whimsical day dreams.
It's time for roasted walnuts and Bon Iver.
It's time for musings and the last butterflies.
It's finally almost time for another fresh start, a clean slate.
It's time for re-watching Snow White and trying to have a conversation with a radical grandparent.
It's time for bitting your lower lip, trying keep it warm.
It's time to let down your hair, lift up your chin, and think with your head.
It's November.
It sounds of crunchy leaves and thanksgiving greetings.
It smells of warm, hot chocolate and old, old books.
It tastes of cold turkey and yucky cranberry sauce.
It feels like worn out boots and a new, large sweater.
It makes your arms tingle, longing for a warm hug.
It makes your frozen, red nose feel as if it's brighter than Rudolph's.
It's a month of warm, fluffy socks and big blankets.
It's the first month since May you can actually go into a sleep so deep, it's like hibernation.
It's a month of crinkly fires and noisy relatives.
It's a happy, thankful month.
It's the month before the dark, horrible December but after the discomforts of October.
There are no children knocking for candy you don't have.
There are no longer any rotting pumpkins, whose only purpose in life was to be carved then thrown away.
The days aren't yet too short to do much of anything.
The music is good, company is adequate.
It's not sweltering hot nor yet freezing cold.
It's the beautiful month of watching everything that came together in spring, fall apart.
It's melancholy and quite.
It's a month for thinking and reading.
It's a month for singing Christmas Carols at the top of your lungs, a month too early.
It's chapped lips, and dozens of lip balms.
Moisturizer is a girl's best friend.
It's the month to look back at the past year, and wonder how time went by so fast.
Goodbye's aren't here yet, but they're getting nearer.
It's a month to discover new music, and wish you knew how to play the piano.
It's a month to remove the nail polish, and look at your finger nails, raw and real.
It's before the frozen toes, and after sweat buds on the upper lip.
It's time for layering millions of clothes, and whimsical day dreams.
It's time for roasted walnuts and Bon Iver.
It's time for musings and the last butterflies.
It's finally almost time for another fresh start, a clean slate.
It's time for re-watching Snow White and trying to have a conversation with a radical grandparent.
It's time for bitting your lower lip, trying keep it warm.
It's time to let down your hair, lift up your chin, and think with your head.
It's November.