Frosty Moon

"Ice Moon," 5 x 7 watercolor holiday greeting card

"Ring Around the Moon"?

High clear ice clouds forming a halo in the cold, clear night. Another name for November's full  moon is "Frosty Moon." No wonder.

The magic, the lure, the pull of a full moon.

Today's watercolor, in the coming cold of December, before November wanes toward the winter solstice.

I've written about it before over the years:

• Moon memories
• Full moon poetry

 

Cold Comfort

"Cold Comfort," 5 x y watercolor holiday greeting card

The full moon always pulls me, especially late in the year. Tonight November's full moon rises. Strong tides.

How much? All you have to do is type the word "moon" into the search box on this page, and you'll see how many times I've written about, and painted, full moons through the past 11 years.

Why? Just does. Memories and more.

Today's watercolor, for one of November's moon name, Cold. Yes, but there's comfort there too.

A chill in the air

 

"Chill in the air," 5 x 7 watercolor holiday greeting cardAdd caption

Snow in the high country of New Mexico. A chill in the air. November days shorten, nights grow longer. Watching the fog of your breath. Bringing in firewood. Time for a fire in the fireplace. Stew. Chili. Blankets. Autumn.

November's end in Oklahoma

"Oklahoma Autumn"--14 by 20 watercolor, 300 # d'Arches

December arrives in a few hours and the days grow shorter. Now is a good time to be in the country, not fighting traffic, not shopping, but enjoying those brief hours while there is still color in the trees and skies. Breezy weather rattles and scatters the leaves, the squirrels are all in a hurry. It's good to hear the crunch of another passing year underfoot, to smell the change, to drink coffee around a fire or on the back porch, wondering and wandering.

Thanksgiving

"November"--8 by 10 watercolor

Thanksgiving Day

       is a journey of years, 

of lives, 

of memories, 

of tears,

of laughter, 

of togetherness, 

of separation,

of places

      and tables

      far and near.

Bountiful plates

      of food

are only symbols

      of  servings

of  years between

and family and friends

      gathered around tables

as the journey continues.

November nuances

The sun is setting on November. A walk in Hafer Park's curving trails highlights the shadows, and bare branches  frame a blue sky.

After a week of icy weather, and Black Friday madness, most of the surround streets are fairly calm with little traffic. 
In the park, fewer than usual people gather at tables on on the trails, in spite of pleasant sunshiny weather and no wind. With traffic muted, the loudest sounds come from the ducks and geese quacking away in the pond.
It's as if we're catching our breath for the coming holiday hassles and blue norther cold fronts as another year wanes toward solstice.
Our inner clocks want to wind down with longer nights and colder weather, but our civilization won't allow, until we take a walk in a park, noticing the birds, the seeds, the leaves, and the setting sun.

It's as if the world is catching its breath.

A magic walk of Thanksgiving

Walking to the magic garden in November.

I went for a walk in a magic garden today, with a friend from long ago who lives there.
Every time I go there, I find him healthy and happy, and we have long talks.
Even though it seems I do most, if not all of the talking, he always seems to give me new perspectives and ideas and inspiration.
Today, I found him cooking breakfast on a Coleman stove, bacon sizzling in an iron skillet, coffee perking away, hot oatmeal ready to serve. 
Nearby a brook gurgled and I could see the movement of trout in the shadows. 
Ponderosa pine, fir and blackjack bordered most of the garden, which was alive with sunflowers, bumblebees buzzing, hummingbirds  and meadowlarks.
In the distance, blue mountains, dusted with snow, rose in the crisp autumn air, but the morning sun warmed the garden where we sat down to chat.
Hawks soared overhead, as grey clouds began changing the blue sky.
We sat on camp stools by the little morning campfire, savoring the smell of woodsmoke, bacon and coffee.
Sipping that coffee, I told him that tomorrow was Thanskgiving Day, and while it is a family day, it is also a day of memories for many, and of loneliness for others. The "holidays" are like that--a two sided coin...one side warm with comfort and joy, and the other cold to the touch.
Then he just looked around his magic garden, and I followed his gaze, drinking it in like another sip of coffee.
He didn't utter a word, but I know what he said.
Every day is a day of thanksgiving.

Colors of November

The entrance to our neighborhood

November again, nearing the end of the year, and my favorite time of year, autumn. Driving around our neighborhood reminds me that aging can be beautiful, that there is more to this world than work and mere existence.  In the ugliness of the world, in the turmoil of life, in the worry of uncertainty, in the anger of people who don't get along, it seems to me that what is missing is an acceptance of the beauty of life, and the tranquility that comes from appreciating our existence. Time to breathe deeply of the season.

Cold front

You can tell it's coming.
The skies grow gray, the sun hazy.
Yesterday's strong south wind is forgotten.
The autumn leaves hurry to the ground in the light breezes.
The air grows calm.
In the northwest, the sky gets bluer and darker.
Ragged clouds fill the skies of the serene Great Plains.
It eases in, spitting moisture as a vanguard.
When darkness falls, you can hear its arrival.
Outside, gusts of wind whip every limb of every tree and bush.
It's time for stew and hot tea and perhaps a fire.
You go to sleep underneath a blanket
And the wind tells you it's November.
In the morning, it's clear and bright...
and crisp... cold front.

November, watercolor

"November" 9 by 12 watercolor, 140 pound Canson Montval paper

Death is coming
slowly, surely.
Leaves turning, falling,
others waiting
Urged by the wind
as the sky turns gray.
Seed time and texture
in the fields, in tree bark,
in lives.
More interesting
in lessening light
but doomed
by November.

November blues

Death is coming
slowly, surely.
Leaves turning, falling,
others waiting
Urged by the wind
as the sky turns gray.
Seed time and texture
in the fields, in tree bark,
in lives.
More interesting
in lessening light
but doomed
by November