November is dull and gray. I used to watch the leaves wilt, fly through the air with the wind, dying hitting the moist ground. The cold air started getting to my skin, but the beauty of the land kept me outside all day. Now I stay inside, most trees do not loose their leaves, there are not many colors and leaves filling the streets and the ground. I miss laying in a pile of leaves looking at the clouds pass by. I miss being a child, and being at home.