Brena finds a little colour amongst the overwhelming grey of a blustery November day. A little bright red amidst a day defined by sweeping veils of rain wind-driven to sting. Hawthorn berries which crunch in contract to the squelching, splattering mud.
November drags. Summer lies far behind, and memories of colourful autumn trees fade. That brief respite from drudgery, Christmas, is still weeks ahead. Yes, November can be a dull month. A little sunshine, that's what we need. But clouds roll in from the ocean, clouds and more clouds, trailing sheets of rain. Wind buffets, and long hours of darkness sap at the soul.
This is the month to hide. To hide behind the busy-ness of work. To shelter within the broad realm of music and literature. To slip past seasonal greyness with food and drink. To sit with friends before a flickering fire, glass in hand, song or tale upon tongue. I find solace in all these.
And it's the month to open the taps upon a good horse, tearing across sodden turf, leaving trouble behind with the rushing air. I've done that too. Today Brena wanted nothing better than to travel as fast as she could, and that was just what I needed.