November was always my favorite month in autumn. (I always considered December to be winter). It had a tendency to be dreary from the cold, wet rain blanketing all of the fallen leaves, and I always liked the feeling that this generated in me. It was invigorating. Energizing. The trees were less mysterious. Since they had no leaves, there were no secrets hidden within, and so there was no point in my climbing up to hide in what used to be a secure place, silent and protected from the stress of the world outside. And, there were no longer any fruits to pick: apples, pears, plums, peaches…just droplets of water which would now fall whenever a branch was jiggled. Stark and gray. Smooth and slippery.
So being outside, in November, took on a different meaning. Dark clouds took on the role of security blanket, and rain falling became a friendly presence, whether it was a gentle touch or vigorously pelting everything with a loud white noise. To me this was an enjoyable and delicious escape. The exception was marching with my trombone in uniform in the mud. Especially as the weather turned colder. The trick for survival was layering clothing under my uniform and putting extra socks on inside my shoes to produce the illusion of comfort. (what we go through for our art)…
At night when it was cold and wet, I always liked the way the lights from signs and store windows would take on a halo effect, giving the surroundings a fictional feeling. I would use this opportunity to invent stories and scenarios that took me into different places and even distant worlds. This was at a time when I read a lot of science fiction. I read a lot of everything, but I preferred science fiction. It was also the heyday of this genre. All of the great writers were in their prime. Names like Asimov, Heinlein, Dick, Van Vogt, Bradbury, and many more were creating material that stirred my mind and stretched it like a large sponge. These writers were inventing things then that we now use and take for granted. Even more intriguing is that many of these things have yet to be realized. A sobering thought.
In most cases this is probably a good thing. We have enough to deal with right now and in the coming years in our own reality. So, for now let’s all just enjoy this autumn, a season that in our much too infrequent quiet moments brings back so many memories.