Today, as I crested Rhode Island's highest peak, I looked up at Connecticut and saw purple mountains hide the fat sun. Only moments before, I had seen a woman walking a rural road with a collection of pine boughs in her arms. Late fall in New England is filled with images made sharper by the cool, clear air, and November is when it's most apparent.

November makes you think of closed doors and well-lit kitchens, where families eat together because a) there's nothing else to do and b) multiple bodies in one room create heat. November is turkey in all its incarnations--from 18 pounder to leftover sandwiches (warmed) to a carcass melting into soup. November is a little calmer than December, a little warmer. Scarves and gloves are still a novelty. School has not yet become old hat.

November's not a bad month, as far as the cold ones go, in New England.


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