On the way toward 4 o'clock sunsets, seemingly endless precipitation, but lacking snow, November is the most miserable month of the year.

At least if you live in the North. It's a pretty decent month in warmer climates in our hemisphere, as my own travel experience could attest.

But I live in the North.

Indeed, I didn't quite grasp the full extent of its dreariness until I moved from the Everlit Electric City to a small town, in which only a handful of central streets is adequately lit after sunset.

I don't quite live on one of such streets.

Most people here don't.

And so I am doomed to dampness, darkness, and deer rustling outside the window—stars or the Moon often obscured by heavy, though unseen cloud cover—reluctantly increasing my caffeine intake to fight the urge to hibernate and dreaming of another time.