In November, the smell of food is different. It is an orange smell. A squash and a pumpkin smell. It tastes like cinnamon and can fill up a house in the morning, can pull everyone from bed in a fog. Food is better in November than any other time of the year.
In November, people are good to each other. They carry pies to each other's homes and talk by crackling woodstoves, sipping mellow cider.
They travel very far on a special day just to share a meal with one another and to give thanks for their many blessings -- for the food on their table and the babies in their arms.
And then they travel back home.
In November, at winter's gate, the stars are brittle. The sun is a sometime friend. And the world has tucked her children in, with a kiss on their heads, till spring.
from In November by Cynthia Rylant