November Nostalgia

It’s these moments, when my big dogs are sacked out, back-to-back in a quiet house, that my chest feels it could explode with contentment. Is that phrase an oxymoron?

“Everything Changes,” by Sarah Bareilles plays on the stereo. Seems fitting. It is November and the seasonal merry-go-round continues to turn. We are in the bare-branches and rusty, remaining leaves phase of fall. Things are changing. The young couple who live next to us are going to be moving. They have been fantastic neighbors, and their toddler daughter a joy. We'll miss them, but they are moving into the meat of their lives, new jobs and settling near family. I'm excited for them. Sadness and excitement really can exist together.

My Maineiac heart vacillates between peace and a little nostalgia. Autumn is always about nostalgia for me. Losing leaves reminds of other loss. The theme this time of year is of passings. What was, is gone.

The landscape becomes more transparent in this land of hardwoods. I can appreciate the chance to see more sky, which harkens memories of my childhood in the Great Plains, where the sky is everything. A small smile is on my face as I write. 

The dogs shift in their sleep, but still seek out contact. November has a new sense of warmth to me. I exhale with ease. In a while, I'll head outside to begin raking this year's detritus, while thinking about what was and what will be.