Karen Wils photo A quiet cold, gray Escanaba River.

ESCANABA — Hush, hush quiet November. The last drowsy leaf drops to the ground.

Mother Nature has everything put away. Folks too have stashed away the garden hose, lawn chairs, rain gauge and flower pots.

The silent gray goes on forever. The sky, the river, the forest floor and the gray squirrel, are all the same drab hue.

Hush, hush quiet November. A milkweed seed drifts like a miniature silken parachute in the cold north wind.

The picnic tables and parks are chatter free. The docks and boats no longer kiss the water.

The robins, the sandpipers and so many of the song birds along with the woodcock have winged away to warmer regions.

Hush, hush quiet November. The old deer is already wearing his insulated coat of gray as he beds down beneath the pines.

Muffled sounds are now the in thing like mitten covered hands clapping at a football game. Woolen socks and long johns swaddle our footsteps.

Is there any other place better to taste the silence of the season than at the old farmhouse?

Gramma’s curtains still hang collecting a bit of dust and a bit of daylight. Decades of bread baking and coffee brewing leave a gentle aroma.

The rings, beeps and buzzes of modern devices are not there, only the ticking of a faithful, old clock.

The wood stove sooths away the cold and gray. Even a mouse is in vogue with its gray coat and quiet feet.

So let the silence rain down. The frogs and crickets are asleep. Hibernation is the answer for the bears, raccoons and chipmunks. The river grows sluggish before the ice caps it.

Hush, hush quiet November while the Northwoods waits to be painted white with snow.

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Karen (Rose) Wils is a lifelong north Escanaba resident. Her folksy columns appear weekly in Lifestyles.