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The final breath of October came with storm and sorrow—rain swept in from the Caribbean’s wounded waters,

and the wind cried through the night.

 

But November opens with peace. The sky is a deep, healing blue, and the air rests still, as if God Himself hushed the earth.

The trees, once clothed in glory, now stand bare in quiet surrender.

Yet the path beneath my feet wears a robe of color—fallen leaves, like offerings, rustle with each step.

 

So I begin this new month not with noise, but with reverence.

Listening to the whisper of November, I walk forward—grateful, grounded, and held.