Twelve Moons of the Year. November 03.

Significant sentences from The Twelve Moons of the Year by Hal Borland, a chronology of the New England seasons. November 03.

"November: We think of it as the silence, the winter silence; but it really isn't silent at all...merely...quiet... Distinction between silence and quiet makes all the difference. This is the quiet of the year, not the silence." p. 311.

"...the oak leaves are leathery in texture and color...." p. 312.

"All we really know is that winter will bring cold and snow, and that it will lead to April and spring." p. 313.

"Nobody likes a winter snowstorm in mid-November; nobody likes the weatherman for permitting it." p. 315.

"...the leaf-crisp evening of the year." p. 315.

"Sunset, twilight, dusk, darkness, all by six on a mid-November evening, late autumn's summary of serenity." p. 318.

"Traditions we observe at Thanksgiving are mostly rural--the bountiful harvest, the gathered family, the roasted turkey, the feast, the thankful prayer...a world of fields made fruitful by callused hands. Thanks were for health and strength and independence." p. 319.

"...November owls make memorable nights. They aren't frightening, but they make one appreciate having a roof and a door." p. 320.

"...paper, the primitive kind of paper hornets were making long before man tamed fire, let alone learned to write or print or bind a book." p. 323.

"Listen closely, and one can hear the patient throb of almost suspended life in the root, the bulb, the seed, the egg, waiting for another spring." p. 326.

"Another spring is already patterned, as inevitable as sunrise." p. 327.

"It is pleasant to walk with May and hear the song of mating birds and see the glint of fresh violets in the new grass. Satisfying to sit in summer's shade and know the fragrance of roses and the hum of bees through the long afternoon. Exhilarating to watch the color come to the woodlands. But when the blossom has become the seed, when daylight has been abbreviated by the southward swing of the sun, when the trees stand naked in the frosty woodland...." p. 327.