November is the anti-April: gray and dreary, the beginning of the end of things rather than their rebirth. It’s the month you hunker down — if you don’t give up entirely.
I’m sorry; was somebody sniffling and whimpering? I couldn’t quite hear it over the sound of frost crunching under my feet as I joyfully danced on warm weather’s grave.
November is the feeling of weakness leaving the calendar year. Embrace it. (And P.S. — spell the word with the respect befitting such a stoic, regal time of year.)