November’s first magic is the urge to run again. November makes me want to run, emphasis on the want. Longer and more often. October’s lunch hour walks became November’s lunch hour runs. It’s finally cold enough. Although I don’t play with the Flower Girls anymore, I still wear the flowers. Each month I choose a new one for fresh magic. Since November opens the season of conventional social slavery I choose the wild one; the free spirit flower.

But in truth, it was cold enough to start the day before, so I did. When I returned and logged the miles my Garmin awarded me this badge. I had to laugh, knowing Garmin’s magic is that of spies and less than seven days ago I wrote about vampires. Do not speak to me of coincidences. Coincidence is a myth. See the magic. Make the magic. Be the magic.

November’s second magic is soup for breakfast. Also warty gourds whose magic is so powerful beholders cannot resist touching them. In late October I piled a harvest of warty gourds and squashes with cellulite upon my desk at work for the joy of their presence. No one could gaze upon them without handling them; no one. Ranging from a light touch to a bruising clutch, every onlooker obeyed the silent beckoning. Each morning I would return to work and my basket of bounty was not the way I left it. Eventually I had to take them home where life is gentler and more reverent.

Let this be a lesson, witches of seduction. Warty gourd magic is Fondle Me.

November’s third magic is dowdy flowers. I wait for them, watching summer’s delicate dazzlers finally fade and wither to usher in the ballsy big sisters. Gutsy. Swarthy. All hard consonants and heavy lips. Dames not damsels. The Helga flowers. The Magdas and Bridas and Ethels. Big legs. Fuzzy chins. Strong eyebrows. Thick braids. Fuck yeah.

Hard to cut. Hard to kill. Viking flowers. In power poses. Retail does add the bullshit though. Carnations and such get mixed with the firebrands because some marketing witch figured out the average (weak-willed) consumer needs a balance of flower powers or they won’t buy. Don’t come on too strong or the bunch won’t sell. Add in some ruffles to soften the edges. Like a well-meaning aunt leaning over to whisper, Put some makeup on that ruddy Rotunda. Like I said, bullshit.

November’s magic has just begun. You don’t want to miss it. As the month wears on you’ll have to defend it though, lest it be eclipsed by (shall not be named, but you know). The same marketing witches switch gears far too soon and miss the obvious. For example, they have not yet figured out that ALL packages of crayons should be sold with three Browns and four Oranges, not just the big sets. Because November. And slip dresses should not be featured summer wear, they should be abundant in NOVEMBER, when we need them to gussy up our base layers. I could go on, but I don’t feel like ranting.

I feel like making wine out of something and drinking it out of very small glasses. I feel like kissing and creating static electricity. I feel like burning toast and wearing a headscarf. Join me please, in November worship. In resistance of December’s poaching. Defend November with me. Embody November. Embolden November.

November’s fourth magic is a brick that says Hi. Just look him. All rugged but with a pert little greeting. Hi there yourself, handsome. I found him while out on a run considering November’s fifth magic, which is that I was three days into the month before I realized I never chose my Thirty Days of Something thing. I have a November tradition of choosing something to observe or practice every day for the month. I remembered today, three days late. Is this the first year I forgot until the month was underway? I think it may be. November’s fifth magic is rearranging priorities when you weren’t looking.

While I was thinking about it and running on I also found this:

And this:

I know what you’re thinking. A penny and a lost dog tag, right? Not in November. In November a tail-side penny in the sun is a suggestion to keep it simple this year. Perhaps simple sun salutations. Yeah; do the number of sun salutations for each day in November. One on the first. Two on the second, and so on. Today I will have to do six to make up for missing the first two days, plus today’s three. Thirty Days of Surya Namaskar. Just think of the magic I will make in double digits.

As for the dog tag, it is more like a calling card. Ruby is the name of a being previously disguised as a dog. Ruby is trying to reach me. She compelled her handler to engrave this wee token and then dropped it where I would find it. The numbers are a coded message. The crimp is intentional. Top left corner folded inward would have been an offer of services. Top left corner crimped means help wanted.

5017 = meet me at the seventh telephone pole, counting from the west end of this street.

44 = come alone.

761 = 3:42 am.

1 = good intentions.

I can feel you scoffing. Would Ruby really bother to engrave a different symbol if her intentions were bad? Yes, because this is not an indication that Ruby’s intentions toward me are good at 3:42 am alone near a telephone pole. It’s an indication that she needs my help with a good intention. My safety is not guaranteed either way, nor is Ruby’s congeniality. Especially not in November. But if I’m up for some good work, she’s got a good job for me.

Would I still go if she needed my help with a bad intention?

I would in November.

— Mercy