Last hike

November has been kind, weather-wise. After September's two hurricanes and October's snow, we were overdue for some kind weather. It's been in the fifties and even sixties for two weeks. The rarity and wonder of this fact is not lost on me.

I know this time is fleeting. November is a flighty month.

This year, we've already set out on three hikes we thought would be "our last" of the season, but yesterday we found ourselves striking out on yet another.

With Thanksgiving right around the corner, and more snow predicted this week, I was pretty sure this would be our real last hike. I savored more than usual: wrinkled berries hung like ornaments on winter-ready bushes, great drifts of crispy oak leaves, milkweed pods setting their down adrift in the breeze, the sapphire blue of reflected sky. The bravery of one extremely cold-tolerant frog.

November's colors we often miss entirely in this month of freezing drizzle and knife-edged wind.

Now we have the whole winter ahead to sit and dream and anticipate next year's hikes. A whole season of mornings to sit inside with oatmeal and wool socks and watch, and be thankful I don't have anywhere to go away from my oatmeal and my wool socks. At least on those mornings, twice a week, when I get to stay home. The more I think about it, the more I'm looking forward to it. Can you tell?

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