Letter to November

A Letter to November
by Sheila Wright 2011

Dear November,

I feel I owe you an apology. For years now, I have spent October dreading your arrival. I have lumped you in with your evil winter cousins, January and February. I have told anyone who will listen just how much I despise you.

Upon reflection, I realize you are not entirely to blame for the heaviness I feel each year upon your arrival. In fact, November, you are often quite bearable. This year, for example, you have been kind. I have opened windows, hung my laundry out to dry and even worn my summer pajamas once or twice. The days are shorter; a three o’clock dusk I cannot forgive. But there has been more sun than snow so far, and my winter boots are still on the shelf.

I am reminded of the time we spent together in Italy back in ’94. Do you remember? We swam in the Mediterranean every day and afterwards, basked in the sun while drinking wine and cracking hazelnuts on the rocks. We got along well that year. We chuckled to ourselves over the plight of the poor folk back in Ontario where the last brown leaves were falling into the cold and slushy soil.

You must feel cheated by the fact that December enjoys an exemption from my hatred, but all winter-loathers agree that if one month should be allowed to hang icicles above doorways and pile drifts of snow over the mailbox, it is December. I am happy to sip a glass of wine by a roaring fire in December. December is full of joy and bright lights and delectable smells. But then the evil twins, Jan and Feb, roar into town like Hell’s Angels on the back of an ice storm. They threaten to bring down the wrath of all that is frozen and ugly upon the December-lulled masses. Their frosted fingers rattle my windows at night. They howl and whine up and down the hall while I clutch my hot water bottle and curl just a little tighter under a mountain of blankets.

You are often the harbinger, the innocent messenger, who brings news of what’s to come. Perhaps you are bullied into the task by Jan and Feb. And perhaps it is out of frustration that you sometimes throw tantrums worthy of any spoiled and bitter month. I have seen you sling wet snow sideways for hours on end. Once you even pushed my car into the ditch. Impulsive and uncalled for behaviour!

I am very pleased to see that this year you have decided to follow in the footsteps of your big brother, October. I think you are old enough now to stand up to the cousins.

I want you to know that in future, I will be directing my hatred towards Jan and Feb. I will harbour only good feelings towards you if you promise to behave in a mature, Autumnal manner.

Remember, we’ll always have Italy.


Sincerely,
Sheila


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November at Presqu'ille Beach, photo by Sheila Wright

"Award-winning author Sheila Wright
weaves a sensuous tale of love and
longing in southern Italy. Insightful,
humorous, warm and confiding,
Amare evokes a true portrait
of life in a land both breathtaking
​and heartbreaking" 
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"Sheila Wright takes us beyond the
tourist trails and describes in detail
the natural beauty and chaos of Italy.
Wright passionately illustrates that
"Amare"- to love- means accepting
the good as well as the not so perfect."
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