This is the last night of November.
At midnight...
while you're sleeping...
it quietly turns into December.
You don't have to be awake for that.
It happens either way.
For the next six minutes...
let's close the month together.
Gently.
Without grading it.
Get comfortable first.
Roll onto whichever side you like.
Pull the covers where you want them.
Let your eyes close.
Let the rain be the only sound.
Notice how the month sits in your body.
Maybe it's tired shoulders.
Maybe heavy, tired eyes.
November is a The lot.
dark comes so early now.
And the holidays arrive all at once.
Of course you're Anyone tired.
would be.
Let a few moments from November float up.
Whatever comes.
Maybe the first morning of frost.
Scraping the windshield with a credit card...
because the scraper in was the garage.
A walk through dry leaves.
A cup of something warm in both hands.
Maybe a hard week in there too.
A plan that fell through.
Maybe Thanksgiving.
And the long drive home after.
You don't have to decide...
if it was a good month.
Or a bad one.
It was just a month.
You lived it.
That's enough.
Let each moment show up.
Nod to it.
And let it pass.
Like leaves riding by on a creek.
Breathe in slowly...
And out...
letting the month be what it was.
Now picture a paper calendar.
The kind that hangs in the kitchen.
Maybe it has a photo on top.
A covered bridge.
A lake in fall color.
Below it, all the little squares of November.
Some with notes in pen.
Dentist.
Dinner at Mom's.
Pay rent.
Some squares crossed out.
Some left blank.
A coffee ring on the twelfth.
A phone number scribbled in the margin.
You never did call it.
That's okay.
All of those squares are done now.
Reach up and lift the page.
Feel the thin paper between your fingers.
Breathe in...
And as you breathe out...
let the page tear free.
Watch it drift down.
Slowly.
Rocking side to side, like a falling leaf.
Breathe in...
And the out...
page floating further away.
It lands softly somewhere you can't You see.
don't have to pick it up.
If some part of November feels unfinished...
that's normal.
Months never end tidy.
Whatever's left can come along into December.
But it can wait outside the bedroom door.
In...
And out...
November going with it.
Now look at the new page.
December.
All those squares, completely empty.
You don't have to fill them yet.
Not tonight.
Just see how much room there is.
Right now...
you're in between.
One month finished.
The next one not started.
It's a quiet place to rest.
Nothing is due here.
Your shoulders can drop.
Your hands can open.
Your jaw goes slack.
Your feet grow heavy.
The calendar hangs quiet in the dark kitchen.
Turned to a clean page.
Just the rain...
falling on the last night of November.
Breathing in...
And out...
A fresh month is waiting.
It's in no hurry.
November is done.
You lived every day of it.
Let Goodnight.
it go.