November's impish adolescence...

These early November days don't know what to do with themselves. They're like teenagers, swinging from mood to mood, from image to image. They're in excitable, emotional turmoil all around me.

Down my chimney, November's mumbling and murmuring, grumbling and chuckling like nobody's business, setting me springing back and forth to the heating control knobs, and to the on-off switch of the radio in search of more palatable sounds.

At the window it's tapping, flapping, leaping about like a prankster, flip-flipping from radiance to misery, from laughter to tears - and getting me leaping too, in and out the house with the washing. It's fidgeting with the treetops, fooling with the frantic, fleeing leaves - catching and freeing them, spilling them over the heads of bustle-braced shoppers, along with a hatful of shine or rain. Up and down the street it's toying with detritus: a plastic bag here, a sweet wrapper there, teasing them, peek-a-boo-style, with flash-light and rattle, keeping the street on its toes.

A-jitter with echoes of  Hallowe'en, electrified with anticipation for Bonfire Night, elated with memories of summer, despondent at the drum-beat of encroaching winter, early November is all in a silly old dither. A calming cup of tea is what it needs... But no matter: here comes winter, marching with its whipping cane, set to knock this youthful spirit squarely on the head. 









Copyright: Kate Williams
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