The heaviest month. If I had to choose, my least favorite month would have to be November. March would be a very close second. I have been feeling it much more these last few years for some reason. November’s weight. Autumn is such a sensual season. The musky-sweet smell. The eye catching colorful foliage. The crunchy sound of drying leaves. The cool sensation of the fresh breeze on our skin. The universal pendulum. Coming down from summer’s high. Nature gently slowing down. Life peacefully hushed to sleep. Past this fall peak, November starts with the most stubborn discolored leaves still desperately holding onto their mother branches. And ends with naked trees and wide open forests. Transparent. Empty. Nighttime temperature lows are now mostly below freezing. It’s only a matter of time before we wake up to a bright white snow blanket covering this vacant land. The end of daylight savings making me feel even more melancholic. Emotional. A certain mourning. Is it simply the extra downtime as the days continue to get shorter? Or is it more than that? From my then 2 year old daughter’s Type 1 Diabetes diagnosis 19 years ago this month to Remembrance Day, November has an undertone of grief for me. A reminder of the inevitable losses we all eventually face in this life. A time for healing through feeling. Sunday morning. My ride taking me through the valley, out to the historical church in Beaumont. Overburdened. I lay flat back on the barren building steps. Sun beaming on my face. I slip into a deep meditation. Feeling the light melt this sorrow. Lifting me up. Nature induced vibrational therapy. My spirit restored. My inspired heart and legs guiding me back home. November’s weight. Maybe it has a purpose? Maybe simply acknowledging its load makes carrying it more bearable?