November is generally considered the dullest, ugliest time of the year. Everything outside is dying if not already dead, the colours are gone, it's dark. But it wasn't until I started spending more time out in the countryside that I noticed it is not that bad after all; I have actually started finding this something of a more quiet, calm time of year, soothing almost*;  like everything is just waiting for what is to come. It is clearly the end of a cycle, the time before nature goes to sleep until it gets the chance to wake up and again. The circle of life you know, bla bladi-blah. But it really is like that, still, faded, waiting.

*(Well, weather- and nature wise that is. Otherwise the hullabaloo of everything is on; the high season for showtime and new acts and Christmas and work and Whoa! Wake me up when the sun is back please.)