November In The Garden

The snow started falling a little bit past noon, now it's four o'clock and the sun is falling behind the cold dry hills. I push my fingers into the sand between the flinty boulders, rub the chilly tan grit between my palms, and look up at the Northern Lights.

There are Christmas Cactus growing here, and dry pale stalks of hungry flowers fated to die in the cold, just because they'd been born too late. There are green worlds waiting for the sun, but it can't possibly come in time.

At night the prayer flags get stiff and brittle, when the November rain freezes and the north wind blows. Thanksgiving can't come soon enough.