Late November Afternoon

6x8, oil/canvas

October's riot of colors are confetti on the ground now, and November slips into something more reserved, more earnest. The year is dying way. Trees and flowers bedding down for a long winter's sleep. I've seen no bees in the garden for a least a week now. This morning the grass was silver with frost. The birdsong no longer a chorus but a duet or trio at most. The sun slips away blithely and the darkness falls hard and fast. Winter is yet around the bend but the change is certain.