November and I, we don’t get along. Growing up in Denmark, November meant the most grey, the most gloomy and melancholic month of the year. Long-browned leaves fallen of the trees, leaving the branches naked and stark, no school holidays, nothing to look forward to except Christmas and an even colder January. Just endless, boring days of thick, grey clouds hanging over the world that would make me feel melancholic and restless. The days that held any kind of sunshine could be counted on just one, maybe two fingers.
It’s not quite as gloomy here in England. It’s generally warmer (although as I write this, it’s unseasonably cold) and there is a lot more sunny days, even if this light is weaker, more delicate. The leaves are at their most colourful of the entire year and are still hanging on the trees, just yet. An explosion of colour before it all goes, a farewell party to an old friend.
This November already feels different. I feel calm but not sad. This summer working at the castle felt long and busy, so I am okay with the fact that it’s ending and that a more quiet time has arrived. Now that my first season at the castle is over, I have time to catch up on all those things I didn’t have much time for in the rush of summer;
- Picking a new book from my stack of unread ones to prepare for new ones that might arrive with Christmas and feeling happy about having my own little library
- Slow mornings making myself hot porridge with cinnamon sugar, eating it under a still-warm duvet on the sofa, as the trees are being shaken outside my window
- Having time with Daniel again, taking the time to cook each other’s favourite food, watching films in the evenings and going exploring with our cameras, seeing new places together for the very first time
- Having my parents visit and being able to take time just being together without having other commitments, discovering new places in London together like Dennis Sever’s House on Folgate Street, between drinking pots of tea and eating cake in our favourite cafes in Bloomsbury
- Mornings spent writing in bed or by my desk, listening to the scratch of the pen on the paper and seeing it filled with words that were not there before I started; enjoying finally having real time to write and to edit all the little pieces I wrote over the summer.
I know the light is dissapearing and that from now on photography will be tricky until Spring arrives but still. I can hear the kettle boiling in the kitchen and in a moment I will get up and make myself a cup of hot chocolate, the good one my parents bring me from home. So November and I might actually get along this year.