Chilly Days

November's drab is here, but beneath dead moca brown oak leaves and slices of spent bark, green things continue to grow. This much I discovered when hunting for dry sticks with which to kindle our daily woodstove fire.
There are beige moths still flapping around and spiders have moved inside to walls and sills.
The chill creeps up the earth into the bones of my limbs and shivers me.
I almost wish for snow, some insulation between me and the freeze below, but snow will come soon enough.