November

As I walked the short distance from my home to the college this morning, a thought struck me: “Is it really possible that it’s November?” I wondered. Of course, I know what the calendar says, but it is still difficult for me to believe.

Not only have my first two months in India passed by like mere minutes, but in Kerala, there have been no warning signs that a new season is upon us. October should have brought changes to the face of the earth: All of the green should have transformed into an array of reds, oranges, and yellows. The trees should have dropped their leaves to the ground. And I should have gone down to the basement to find my favorite sweaters. How can I believe it is November without seeing the proof on the bare trees, without feeling the proof in the chill of the air?

I suppose I could simply look at the large calendar that hangs on the wall of the dining room; it would tell me clearly that a new month has come. But my fear is that only my mind would accept it and my heart would be left unsure.

Apparently, it is November, but the air is still heavy with heat and humidity. It is November, but everywhere I turn there is green. It is November, but the trees look today just as they did when I arrived in the summer. And still, I cannot deny that it is November. No, the leaves have not changed colors, and the face of the earth has not been transformed. There is no proof of changing seasons here in Kerala. But the seasons are changing - they are changing in my heart. And after two short months, as my homeland undergoes the transformations of the changing seasons, I sense that I, too, am being transformed.

Welcome, November.