It’s the start of November and that means graduation week all over the country. Graduates come back to their university cities to accept their diploma’s and party. Mr. Bingley is a graduate. Thus it was a very welcome telephone call from my mother asking me to come home for the week. Immediately after the call I booked my tickets and threw some random bits and pieces into my suitcase and left.
I will be spending this start of November admiring the leaves turn gold instead of watching the grads turn old. I shall be feeling a cold November breeze whiffle through my hair instead of the burning sensation of alcohol through my throat as we celebrate their return. I shall smile at the touch of my mother’s arm around my shoulder instead of the shock that would run through my body as Mr. Bingley taps my shoulder.
Like Robert Frost once beautifully worded: ‘Not long ago I learned to know the love of bare November days.’ Bare translates to many different meanings but I relate to them all. Bare is without covering or content; barren, bleak, desolate, empty. Bare is simple and unadorned. And I feel myself doing exactly so; loving these bleak and simple November days. Because this bleakness feels safer than the hopefulness of a love that crumbles in the end. I prefer these simple days over any complications like we’ve known them.