Endless November Rain

If this month were to be described musically, it would be a mashup between Guns'n'Roses and X-Japan: Endless November Rain.

It is about relearning, once again, to discern the subtleties of the grayscale, where most of the time the world around fluctuates between 40% and 60% black. 

It is also about appreciating the remaining—and rapidly vanishing—bits and pieces of color that won't reappear until Nature wakes up again in the spring. 

It is the time when reflections are everywhere. 

In the puddles, extending the world into a hall of mirrors. 

And in your mind, grasping the meaning of the year gone by.

By now, some of that year is a fleeting memory, like those drying puddles beneath your feet covered with shed leaves.

Self-Portrait

It's been a very long time since I've taken anything other than a smartphone selfie. Therefore, today I forced myself to at least photograph myself in front of the mirror for five minutes with a real camera.

"Forced? Girls love taking photos of themselves!"

That they do. Except ladies, who are also photographers, tend to be perfectionists. So, where a simple selfie would do, a real portrait may not.

But this little experiment turned out fairly well. Whereas it's obviously not advisable to have strange shadows on one's face when capturing a head shot, sometimes the said shadows may lend to worthwhile artistic affects.

As is it case here. At least I hope so.

In the very least, my eyes look their hazel best, not brown as they often appear. And that's enough for this perfectionist.

For now.

November Blues

On the way toward 4 o'clock sunsets, seemingly endless precipitation, but lacking snow, November is the most miserable month of the year.

At least if you live in the North. It's a pretty decent month in warmer climates in our hemisphere, as my own travel experience could attest.

But I live in the North.

Indeed, I didn't quite grasp the full extent of its dreariness until I moved from the Everlit Electric City to a small town, in which only a handful of central streets is adequately lit after sunset.

I don't quite live on one of such streets.

Most people here don't.

And so I am doomed to dampness, darkness, and deer rustling outside the window—stars or the Moon often obscured by heavy, though unseen cloud cover—reluctantly increasing my caffeine intake to fight the urge to hibernate and dreaming of another time.