paddled 'round the island on a sunny morning.
Instead, now, I hunker down in my pyjamas and bathrobe, my moccasins soaking up moisture from the wet ground, and I admire the stormy show, a fairly mild one as storms go.
But November does offer some magnificent weather if you like dark and broody, grey and dramatic. And you might like to remember what Edna St. Vincent Millay wrote about it, a sonnet all its own. I've posted it before, several times, but you can never have too much Millay, can you?