November in Two Textures

For me, the November light is silver. It’s long, low, rays capture textures as we hold our breath for snow. November is on pause - not quite winter and not really fall.

The husband and I have a tradition of going out for breakfast. We stopped in to a local antique shop we’d been meaning to visit. While the offerings were eclectic, I must return in spring and summer for the courtyard. There is nothing so delightful as a secret garden courtyard! Especially one with vines left to their own devices.

Their second building had the most magnificent doors and I could not resist capturing the dichotomy of metal and vine. Here, we can experience the interlacing underpinnings of the Boston ivy as it scrawls its name across the slowly rusting metal.

On my weekly visits to my section of elms at The Morton Arboretum where I record phenological data, I am always struck by the mosaic formed by lacebark elms. It, too, writes a story in tones of sepia, caramel, and slate. I can see it as a map of distant lands sketched hurriedly, rain on a windowpane, or an intricate embroidery.

Only when leaves subside can we experience these tapestries of nature.