Grey Skies

When I was a child, November was my favorite month.  I loved the grey skies and would spend hours looking out the window at the clouds.  My heart resonated with the peace and reflective nature of the change in season. I always thought it was about the grey, but I have figured out it was being able to see the sky. 

I lived where there were many tall trees, hills and mountains and the skies were hard to see.  When I looked out the windows in spring and summer all I could see were trees.  In winter the skies were generally dark and forbidding.  But November was different.  It was the first month that all the leaves would be gone and the trees were bare.  In November, the skies weren't dark, but a light and gentle grey. 

I felt more like I could breathe when I could see the sky.  The tall trees and hilly landscape of my youth continue to call to me for their beauty, but I think I am in the flatlands for a reason.  I still feel more calm when I can see the sky, whatever color.  I still love staring out the window and feeling the limitlessness of the horizon.  I feel a sense of endless possibility in the landscape.  I love the changing seasons.  I love that November is a time when things are changing and growing under the surface. 

Life runs in cycles and seasons.  Sometimes my skies are grey and gentle and sometimes my trees are bare.  And sometimes that is just what I need.