November Grey

This is a familiar place.
I've been here before.
But not for a long time.

Not much has changed. I have to say.
I would have thought they would have at least redecorated while I was gone.
The sky is still a low, flat grey.
The trees have been drained of color.
Their once vibrant reds and yellows have browned and now lie in a heap on the ground.
And that pleasing crunch beneath the feet has gone as well.
The rain has seen to that.

Darkness comes early.
The light is leaving this place.
But I can't tell if it's receding...or I am.

I have that strange feeling one gets standing in the foot of the surf.
Feet sinking into wet sand as the waves wash in, and then pull out.
You'd swear you're moving along with the wave, as the sand shifts beneath your feat.
For a disorienting moment you think you're being pulled out to sea.
When in reality you have not moved at all.

I've been here before.
As a teen, in my early twenties, and again in my early thirties.
Whenever some unrequited love or desire tore into my life,
sending me spinning out of control,
and leaving a gaping hole behind in its wake.

This is November.
This is pre-Advent.
The time of waiting before the waiting.
The time of fading light, greying skies, and barren landscapes.
The time of dimming hopes.
The time when all the greenery and life that one has lovingly cultivated,
either goes dormant,
or withers and dies right before ones own eyes.


I've been here before.
But I've never stayed here longer than necessary.
December will come.
Advent proper will begin.
Preparations will be made. Hope will once again be anticipated.
The light will return to the world.


But not yet.
For now, I must decrease, so that He may increase.
Another November Grey must be endured.
With all its numbing pain and listless anguish.
For life to be born anew.