It is November in Minnesota. The sun rises so late and so far to the south that at 7:15 a.m. I can’t even see it from my pillow. All summer the piercing, top-of-the-morning beams had dragged me from my bed to belatedly pull the blinds of my east-facing window. Today, with Saturday slothfulness, I watch the clouds’ golden tint blushing to pink as bare branches and my neighbors’ rooftops are revealed in the growing light. Clouds approach and steal the fire of the day, leaving me under many shades of gray. Tantalizing streaks of blue, gold and rose hint that full, brilliant daytime exists up there, beyond my reach. It is November in Minnesota; time to be thankful for glimpses caught.