I was walking the woods in late November, and I was surprised to see the forest not entirely dead. My fingers were chapped, clutching a camera, clenched in my pockets, and I felt a chill in my boots. But the leaves I was trudging through were warm.

I’ve walked through the woods in November before. I’m running, or I’m wandering, and I’m lost in my head. I don’t pay attention, so I don’t notice.

November doesn’t shout about its work, like May or June. October, its sister, screams. November is quiet, working through frosty dew, painting with a subtle brush. It takes the cold and makes it glow.

 

References and Influences:

• Sue Abramson, photographer
• Robert Frost, “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening“
• Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland
• Stephen Sondheim and James Lapine, “Into the Woods“
• Tim Burton, The Corpse Bride
• Imogen Cunningham, photographer