November

November often descends like a phantom
the cold creeps up on you
the realization,
sudden
that the end of another year is nearing
and you are alone here
Alone with November.
That icy rain falling on your skin
shivers up your back and neck
the dark closing on you
earlier each day
every day
The wind that howls more
Growls more
And leaves you longing for a blanket
For someone to cuddle under it with
Seeing only the leaves
Fallen and becoming so frail
No blanket can they weave
No wind can they stop
Only taking flight, swirling.
And the ground beneath your feet
it begins to freeze,
your breath takes form in the air.
You start to understand
this is what death looks like
Earthly death.
This is November.
Closing in on the end.