It is as if everything is ending at once, but this happens every November. It is the season changing more than anything, because if anything ends this time of year, the cold weather, snow and lack of light arrive to remind you that there is no such thing as an endless summer here. Along side such feelings I have always found that it is a reminder that all things come to end. Leaves and flowers, sunlight and warmth. Friendships and relationships, semesters and jobs.

I embrace it however, lest it drives me to the edge. The biting cold and prolonged darkness approach with such a viciousness that it seems the only sensible thing to do is move south with those wealthy kid’s grandparents. And yet, I like it here, for it ingrains in me a sense of relentlessness. A fighting spirit and grit that says you can throw anything my way because I have lived and lost and I do it every year.

Every year I lose light, I lose warmth, I lose colour, I lose time.

I wouldn’t trade it for anything, because I can only hold so much you see. If I don’t let anything go, I won’t have any room to grow. So I’ll take my November, be it easy or hard, cold or warm, peace or chaos, order or anarchy, I’ll face it. I will not just stand and accept it; I’ll charge it and storm the gates because I knew this was coming. We all did.