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Tonight We Talked about Orion

{Image via GeekMom}

The nights are getting shorter and more chilly as we advance into the last dregs of November. Friday evening, a few friends and I had come together for a late Thanksgiving gathering of sorts at a girlfriend's place, and I find it particularly bittersweet. Like salted caramel.

There is a pool right in the center of my friend's estate, which we all took off for a dip before dinner. In this crazy cold weather, we were probably the only ones there, aside from a father teaching his child how to swim at the far shallow end. We swam for a while, back and forth; one following another. One lap, two laps. Someone coughed, we laughed at one another's wrinkled fingers from staying in the water for too long and gathered by the edge of the pool when another pointed out that we could see the neighbours' Christmas lights from where we were. There is suddenly so much to find beautiful in that brief moment; the lights twinkled and the waters slushed softly against our skin and the edges of the pool. Someone realised the red clouds foretelling rain has dispersed a little in the evening sky, allowing the few stars which were visible to us living in this part of the Earth to peek through. I wondered which were stars, which were satellites, whilst our resident astronomy expert pointed out Jupiter. The planet was blazing in the sky that night.

After a satiating dinner and the ultimate bimbotic crisis (someone broke her nails), the lights went off as the surprise cake and candle emerged from the kitchen. They'd used the stove to light the candle because they couldn't find a lighter and I would probably smile every time I think about it. I realised how much we loved surprises - I'd baked for them that afternoon, too. When I closed my eyes to make a wish, I quietly sent them some love. Over the years, so many had gone, but them who remained were constant. They'd seen me transit from a girl to a young woman; now, 2 amongst us have gotten engaged.

A little before midnight, a few of us had looked out from the apartment balcony and tried to identify the winter constellations. Our resident astronomy expert, Jas, traced Orion with her fingers, smiled her little secret smile and said to me that the stars only seem to be moving across the skies due to the Earth's latitudes, Orion will still look like Orion even if it may not be in the same place the next day when we are looking up into the same horizon, because the patterns of the stars never change.

They still exist, just like those who had gone before and always loved us.

Débuter: {Verb} To start; to begin

I love November.

As much as it signifies the year coming to a close, it brings with it a hope of the spirit of renewal.

Where I am located, the transition from season to season is barely noticeable, but it can still be felt all around us. The days are getting colder. It seems to me that Christmas is approaching way faster that I thought it would come this year.

Fall brings with it a kind of beauty that is so alluring; like a whisper. Gone are the rains of October. November's dusk cast on an almost-romantic rosy pink glow on the tops of the trees outside my window, bathing them in the evening light before the night falls. I love it that families are starting to gather, drawing close and keeping company, for comfort; for warmth.

On my way home the day before, I looked out of the window of the bus and saw a lorry transporting a glittery gold decorative Christmas tree. The light from the streetlamps was caught in its boughs, and as the lorry sped forward and the boughs swayed in the wind, I swear I thought that I saw a million stars hanging there, swinging so close to me I may actually be able to touch them.

The last two months of the year does get me in more ways than one.

Bienvenue.

This is the start of The Sunday Bakery.