Curious, Open, and Grateful

More leaves fall each day and the colorful bright fall garb of the trees is being shed creating a minimalist monochrome look with bare limbs swaying in the wind and dark clouds overhead.

November is known as the cloudiest month of the year in this part of the country. On average clouds cover the skies in Minneapolis 70 – 80% of the time in November. It’s my least favorite month of the year. I always think of November as the time of gray days and I dread it’s coming as the harbinger of winter days to come. Once the leaves have fallen, with clouds covering the sun much of the time, I feel as if I’m living in a monochrome gray brown world.

I can’t help feeling a little sad and nostalgic this time of year, wishing that summer had lasted longer. Fall’s glorious colors and beauty give way to the gray cold days of November. Day length shortens. Snow threatens. And I miss the beauty, color, warmth, and brightness of spring, summer, and fall. I could list all of the things I don’t like about winter, but that would be doing more of what I almost always do. Instead I’m trying something different as my least favorite time of year begins.

Being Curious, Open and Grateful

Instead of lamenting the season and listing all of the reasons that I don’t like November (which I guess I just did—old habits die hard), I’m actively working on being curious, open, and grateful about this time of year.

What happens if I simply observe (the world outside and the thoughts inside my head) and get curious about the changes occurring outside in nature and inside my own mind? Will it change my experience of this season and lessen the heaviness I often feel about it? Can I find reasons for gratitude and joy inside this season?

This feels like a mindfulness practice—noticing my thoughts about the weather/day length/gray skies/whatever is happening and then becoming curious about them. I know I will still catch myself complaining but hopefully I will notice and refocus my attention of becoming curious and open instead of clinging to my desires.

Here are some of my thoughts and observations this week:

Linden Hills on the First of November

I give thanks for each colorful bush, leaf, or tree that I still see in this first week of November. Thursday I went for a walk in Minneapolis and was startled at how much more color I could see there in comparison to what I see in the suburbs where I live. Wandering through the neighborhoods surrounding the lakes in Minneapolis is always a beautiful adventure but this time of year when most of the leaves have fallen, it is especially stunning because of the brilliance of the remaining colors. I wonder if because of the urban heat sink effect that the trees keep their leaves longer in the city than in the suburbs?

View of the pond behind the house on November 2

The view of the pond behind our house changes so rapidly this time of year. One day everything is clothed in brilliant gaudy color, the next moment the bones of the trees are revealed in their stark beauty. There are only a handful of leaves remaining on the river birch tree at the edge of the pond and our neighbor’s maple tree is hanging on to a few bright orange leaves. The oak tree across the pond turned bronze earlier this week and then it seemed like all its leaves dropped in a single day. It is bare now while other oak trees in the neighborhood still hold onto their leaves. I wonder why some oaks hold some of their leaves all through the winter and others don’t.

Oak tree at French Regional Park November 3

My cat, Gracie, doesn’t like the cooler temperatures this time of year brings. She spends time curled up in front of heat registers, basking in afternoon sunlight when it appears, and finding warm laps to cuddle in. Right now she is cuddled in my lap, making typing on my laptop challenging. I wonder what thoughts are going through her mind as she watches my fingers pressing the different letter keys on my laptop? Can she see the letters appear on the screen and if she can what does she make of them? I too spend time curled up under a blanket or in layers of clothing.

While on a hike at French Regional Park with coat, hat, and gloves on, I notice that although it is cool outside, I enjoy the briskness of the air. It feels fresh and energizing to be out moving in this weather. I am grateful that the wind is mild and that the predicted rain has not arrived yet. I notice that the coots that so delighted me in September and October have all left, continuing their migration south. Geese fly overhead in a V formation. I look up and feel uplifted by their flight and the noise of their honking fills the air. My heart feels as if it is soaring aloft with them.

Gracie soaking up the sunlight

I notice how the somber colors of the bare tree limbs and fading plants feel like they are expressing emotions like sadness or loneliness. I wonder if the trees feel sad at fall’s end or if that is purely my human anthromorphizing them. As I open to sensing the feelings the dark landscape suggest to me I find that simply allowing them to flow through openly with no contraction or resistance actually feels fine. Yes, this is sadness. Ah, loneliness. Hmmm, gladness in this remaining yellow leaf. Not judging or trying to change anything I found a richness and depth that I don’t normally experience when I’m not mindfully seeking to be curious and open.

I also find a deep sense of gratitude in each moment, each feeling I experience, and each tiny sliver of beauty I see. And within my gratitude I find the seeds of joy.