The Color of Late Afternoon in November

There is a particular light that belongs to November. It is fleeting and softer, lacking the penetrating heat of warmer months. It is as if the earth itself is taking one last deep breath before the long exhale of winter. The world has not yet turned completely to gray. Instead, it sways quietly with tones of taupe, ecrue, straw, umber, and pine. Rust lingers in the corners and soft blue-gray skies hang above.

I walk through the fields, the sun sitting low, catching the dry grasses like threads of gold. The air is cool and crisp, but a subtle warmth of the light brushes against my skin, reminding me that even in this month of decay, there is comfort. November has a way of holding opposites: warm and chill, dry and damp, all woven together in harmony.

It’s the kind of beauty that asks for stillness. To stand there among the grass turned straw and the lingering seedheads, is to feel time moving gently forward in a slow unseeable pace. The color of late afternoon in November feels like a memory: blurred at the edges, soft and fleeting

This is the feeling I aim to capture when I paint. It is happy nostalgia. It is how I remember it, not how it was.