November first, and the high is supposed to hit near 70 degrees. The photo was from a little less than a month ago, one of the first mornings of frost on the ground. Leaves haven’t been very colorful in town. Seeing as the trees around here survived the 100 mph winds of a derecho in May and more severe weather than we’ve had for quite a while, I suppose it’s understandable that they’d be tired out after a long, difficult summer —perhaps it’s too much to expend the energy on dressing before death this year. The front yard trees are bare already, the side yard trees are hanging on to about half their leaves, dangling from the branches and dried out, a dull brown to pale yellow-green.

Next week, the clocks will be back to standard time —no more waiting in the dark for the bus or driving home at 5:30 pm with the glaring Western sun in people’s eyes. Now, I suppose, we wait for snow and winter to come. It’s been a strange summer, not only because of the weather patterns, but also because of getting used to a new home, a new town. I should walk more. Maybe with the unseasonable warmth this week, I’ll manage to make that happen.

And it’s the first day of NaNoWriMo —National Novel Writing Month. I’m not writing a novel, but I’m finally getting started in earnest on my next writing project. Apparently they allow us non-novelists to join in now (don’t let me catch you calling a nonfiction book a novel), so I’m taking advantage of the accountability. We’ll see how close to 50,000 words of ”sh*tty first drafts” (as Anne Lamott would say) I can get down in a month. I’m taking a hiatus from Twitter, starting yesterday, so that should help as well to get me writing more in long form and less in short bursts.

At any rate, happy November, and happy day one of NaNoWriMo to those who celebrate, as they say. Here’s to a month of writing and walking and settling in for whatever winter will bring.

Time to go get some coffee and start this day for real.