A November Lullaby

November hums in shades of brown. Gleaming bronze ripples and glitters in the sussing breeze. Summer's gone and the browns intervene.
Earthy, no-nonsense, fertile brown.
A quiet brown ... a lying-in-wait brown.

Soft, whispery, feathery beige flutters and shivers in the dying rays of the sun. Waiting and hoping for all that is yet to be done... all that is yet to come.

The seeds have launched in the late afternoon breeze that tugged them up and told them to fly. Away, away, before its too late. For the winter chill threatens even in a tropical clime, you know.

A fallen log is cradle enough to cosset a nursery of baby fungi. Furry pale fans timidly brave the wild world and hold it at bay.

On top of the sky-clawing Mast tree, a pair of tawny Pariah Kites scout with laser eyes. Grounded by that most basic urge, for home, mate, and off-spring; its nesting time for these high-flying aliens.

And under the leaves, the sapote shivers, for the chill will call and it knows no choice. Cower and hide, or wither and fall.

Brown can look beautiful too, whispers the butterfly. The Rainbow had no room for it so she gave it to me.

Tawny, russet, sepia, bay

Cinnamon, auburn, amber, hay

Bronze, berry, walnut, tan

Try and top that if you can!

Butterfly - shutterfly! Are moths any less glorious? Look deep into my caramel eyes and you will see a world of infinite possibilities.

Weeds are flowers too, as every Psyche knows. The fragrance has faded but the form holds true. "Remember those days?" she sighs, and shivers in delighted reverie.

"November is ours", confide the mushrooms . Earth-grown, earth-tone, hugging the bones of the dying year.

We dont forget, murmur the trees. Our dreams take wing in blooms of wooden hue. Deep from our core we wrench them, colour them in the earthern shades of November .

Just so you will remember...