What is there about the November sun that seems sunnier than other suns? Is it that it disappears so very quickly under Eastern Standard Time? Or that the remaining painted leaves blaze with such reflected glory the firmament seems golden, too? Coming out into it all makes one wonder what the poet could have been thinking of when he said, "November's sky is chill and drear."
Wait a minute, you say? There's a bit of drear right over there on the horizon? Okay. November is anything but monolithic. But when you sing, "You are my sunshine," to a month like this, it really isn't moonshine.