19. surprise

Why do we submit our twelve months to popularity contests, pitting, say, February against June as if they are human beings and not just names for the passing of time? Better to align your body to the rhythm of the seasons and press each month close like the gifts they are. For instance, November is a wonder—it has nothing to prove, and in its quiet barrenness it carries a clarity that few other months offer. Here begins the shift to the deeper reflections of winter. The light is thin and has lost its warmth, and in the starkness there is no hiding. There is solace in that space between the bare trees—no longer do you have to resist winter’s arrival. Without the distractions warmth brings there is space to breathe and surrender to the long, inquisitive, reflective months ahead. 

In the mornings I’ve been listening to Bon Iver’s album For Emma, Forever Ago. It’s a record I’ve known and loved for years, but I recently discovered that the album was recorded in his dad’s northern Wisconsin hunting cabin over a three month span, November-January. Suddenly the music makes sense. You can feel the gray wind, the ugliness of a bare terrain yet to know snow, the deer and the logs and the grass and the branches all blurred into a khaki landscape that makes the visit of a red cardinal all the more magnificent. Hold these months close, the music says. There is room for surprises here.

(Nov. 1)