Somewhat surprisingly, the month of November shows up in literature, poetry, and – of course – politics. We know this is a month when voting is important, because without voting, we lose control of our Republic. So, tomorrow, vote…then contemplate the seasons’ change.
To some, November represents the rise of chill winds, the end of radiant colors, the start of winter, but it is also the opening act of a great season, the season of snowflakes and celebration, Thanksgiving, Advent, Christmas, and a new year, replete with deep snow and warm fires, book reading, and gratitude.
Funny part is that, as I poured over favorite books, the poetry of Robert Frost, adventures by Kenneth Roberts, Bowdoin’s complicated Nathanial Hawthorne, and woodsy books by Edmund Ware Smith, November – directly and indirectly – makes a regular appearance.
This inter-season month, caught between bright leaves and bright white snow, between Halloween candy and the opening of the Advent calendar window, does appear surprisingly often.
While some writers mourn the end of fall – the same ones who mourn the end of summer, spring, and winter – others celebrate the month. Every end is a beginning, and November to them is that.
Writes Hawthorne, who went to school with Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, “I cannot endure to waste anything so precious as autumnal sunshine by staying in the house.” So, to him, it was a month of walking, probably stiff-armed, collar up, thinking about what he would write next.
Of course, in November, the sun gets lower in the sky, rising earlier, setting sooner, days shorter as the Northern hemisphere tilts away from the sun. D.H. Lawrence wrote, reflectively as usual, “Now in November, nearer comes the sun down from the abandoned heaven.”
John Burroughs, a born naturalist, loved the outdoors in all seasons, writing in the spirit of Theodore Roosevelt. Of this month, he whimsically wrote: “The November wind has a sound different from any other, a low, dry whispering through the bare branches.” True enough, reminding me we used to tell ourselves this time of year, “There is no such thing as cold weather, just under-dressed people.”
Maybe my best poetic reflection on November is the one by E.E. Cummings, who must have been taking in a Maine sunset when he wrote: “Peering from some high window at the gold of November sunset…feeling that if day has to become night, this is a beautiful way.”
For me, the month is less curse than crunch, less worry than revelry in the fresh wind, not so much about dead leaves and dormant trees than the coming carpet of white, bright moonlight on a cotton-covered orchard. Yes, winter is coming, and for now, we have November, but that is good.
So, enjoy the day, enjoy great books by the fire, falling asleep to warm embers, but remember: Before the sun sets and the world gets remote – be sure to get up and vote!
Robert Charles is a former Assistant Secretary of State under Colin Powell, former Reagan and Bush 41 White House staffer, Maine attorney, ten-year naval intelligence officer (USNR), and 25-year businessman. He wrote “Narcotics and Terrorism” (2003), “Eagles and Evergreens” (North Country Press, 2018), and “Cherish America: Stories of Courage, Character, and Kindness” (Tower Publishing, 2024). He is the National Spokesman for AMAC. Today, he is running to be Maine’s next Governor (please visit BobbyforMaine.com to learn more)!
RBC, lovely article. Fall has come early with the temperatures dropping in Oct. Most trees have lost their leaves so have them piled them up for the grandkids to play in.
As for voting, my wife and I do it early after going over all the issues and candidates involved.
Have a great day.
November is in most US locations a perfect month for voting. The weather is usually conducive to making it to the polling location, but not so excellent that one is tempted to take a formal vacation in another part of the country. I agree that November is usually a fine month for brisk walking — which becomes more and more enjoyable as one gets older.
I will not malign Mr Charles, with his education and career, he has to know the difference between poured and pored.(third paragraph, first line). I hate being the “word police”, but our magazine should aspire to be the best.
St.Martin was expected to arrive on his white horse on Nov. 11 and the goose was roasted, that was so long ago, in the old country, I think that tradition died decades ago.