Purple and pink flowers on the trees and blowing blissfully onto the ground instead of falling golden and orange leaves. Salads instead of soup. Sandals instead of sneakers. Sunshine and storm clouds filled with a warm summer rain. Soft melodies instead of sweet jazz. Bright pastels instead of basic black and white. 

November looks like freckles on my nose, and constant smudging of sunscreen into my skin. November looks like white-sanded beaches and the bluest of cerulean waves. It looks like leaving the windows wide open towards the sun and leaves, despite warnings of spiders. 

It means long walks to the park with a book, where the sun grows warm on your skin, and you find you forgotten your sunhat. Or, a fiercely gentle rain comes up, and you find you’ve forgotten your umbrella. It means iced coffee and chia pudding with painstakingly peeled dates and juicy berries for breakfast.

It means you accidentally tan. 

November means watermelon, and kiwi with the peel on it. And whole boxes of blueberries in one sitting. It means avocados every day for lunch, and sometimes another one with a squeeze of lime, dash of salt, with an evening meal. 

November means night bus rides to the Harbor Bridge and Opera House, where you feel the chill of a springtime breeze brush through your hair. You look at all the lights. You stare into the bay’s waters; you write a lot. A tear or two slips down your cheek as you take in the beauty and dazzling wonder of it all.  

November means holding hands with your best friends as you create laughter and unexpected memories that you never even dreamed of, and you don’t even realize until after the fact that you’ve only known them for a few short months.

November means you become nostalgic when you catch the city’s skyline view over a ridge of the hill, or from someone’s balcony late at night. The lights, glowing, twinkling, never still, make you want to cry for all the things in the past, all the beauty moving forwards. 

It means running barefoot. And all the puppies on the street stop to wag their tails and smile at you. 

November means chasing bewitching sunsets from rooftops, watching the streak of cloud fingerprint the sky with golden and peach hues unbeknownst to man. November means the days are getting longer. November means the end of my first semester here at school, living in Australia. The time has gone much too quickly, and I confess I haven’t had time to understand the concept of Christmas time in the warmth of summer - but I’m willing to learn. This place is home.

To you, November. New mercies ‘round every bend. 

MUCH LOVE,

sierra m.