It amazes me that some seasons blend almost seamlessly into one another, at least at the beginning. I don't for instance, see a big difference between the end of June and the early days of July. Or the end of July and the beginning of August. But some are sharply different here in New England. May is usually a lot different from April. April is usually wet and raw and yucky. May heralds in more sunshine and better days. Likewise the difference between October and November is another sharp demarcation to me. There is a difference in the sky in November, even in the first few days. Suddenly there are less blue skies and lots of clouds, sometimes filled with wind, some with rain. But big billowy clouds none the less.
Even when there is still foliage on the trees the colors are different. October is full of bright color. November is those somber hues that I associate with the garments worn by maiden aunts 30 or 40 years ago. Colors like "ashes of roses" and deep russets. Rich browns and oranges that have been browned down. Nothing showy but yet pretty in an understated sort of way. But not an October look--no , that is strictly November.
I don't really love late fall and I have a hard time embracing winter as well. I hate the physical feeling of being cold, something that I am most of the time from now till mid April or so. I wear layers and layers of clothing but the reality is, I am usually still cold. I have Reynauds syndrome and it is to be expected. Especially as i live in a drafty old victorian house in New England.
I have learned to mask my deep dislike for the colder months and find moments of joy to share in the winter with the kids. I don't want my feelings to color their perceptions, so we play in the snow, we hike, we build snowmen. We laugh. . . and i dream about crocus and snow drops lying in wait for the first warmth of spring.