art every day month, day twenty-seven.

As the days of November draw to a close, I've been thinking about what it is about November that makes it so wonderful to me. Surely not just one day out of the month where we eat ourselves into a stupor. Surely not the prospect of dragging our tryptophan-laden bodies out to stores and malls and whatnot at dark:thirty in the morning the next day?

Nope. Those things are certainly fun, but that's not it.

Part of it is my son's birthday. I look forward to it the whole month until it gets here (on the twenty-eighth).

But the other part of November's sheer loveliness is this.

Yep. That's it. That right there.