By Stephen Lodge
November rode in to town in his customary non-style and wearing shoes he must have borrowed from a clown. I told him which route to take, clearly he hadn’t read my message. He’d been away a long time (about a year). Had he brought any new tricks? Any magic cheese in his bag? I showed him around, hoping that this time he wasn’t going to cancel all our dreams. In the sleeting rain, it became apparent. There were to be no surprises. Just the start of months of wet and cold. November is a boil no one wants to kiss.