November, the least attractive of all months in the yearly calendar.  The clock has now been turned back to Daylight Saving Time and it's a dreaded occasion.  Heaven knows why we persist; who does it now benefit to have dusk fall at half-past four in the afternoon, and dark swiftly descend, giving us much briefer days of light?  The old reasons of earlier daylight hours benefiting farming communities makes little sense at a time when we are hugely urbanized.

November, when we rake up the last of the falls of deciduous leaves off our lawn, blowing over from neighbours' trees, as ours are all conifers.  Not that conifers don't themselves shed, for pines most certainly do, continually, and pine needles along with the hardwood trees' leaves require the last raking before snow covers the ground.

November, when the car has to be rust-proofed for another season of salting icy roads to protect against numerous winter-driving accidents.  And the cars have to undergo their seasonal tire change from all-weather tires to ice tires.  And the snow throwers and snow blowers have to be brought up to mechanical snuff for imminent use.  And the shovels have to be placed in easily accessible range of quick need from unexpected snowstorms.

November, when my husband suddenly remembered we have a dental appointment at some time during the month.  And, a few moments after that recollection as we were preparing to exit the house I pulled on a jacket I hadn't worn for months, reached inside one of the pockets and withdrew a card.  Without my glasses on I couldn't read it, so I just set it aside on the counter, and my husband, passing, realized it was a card from our dentist's office, with all the details of our forthcoming November appointment.

November.