The Month Everything Slows Down

By November, the air feels heavy enough to touch. The windows stay fogged, the light doesn’t last, and everything in the studio starts to move slower — the wax, the hours, even me. It’s the month I stop trying to chase summer and start paying attention to the way the rain sounds against the roof.

Vancouver has its own rhythm this time of year. Mornings start grey and end greyer, but the quiet is generous. I pour with the door cracked open just enough to let in the smell of wet cedar and pavement. The air changes the way the wax cools — slower, smoother, softer at the edges. You can feel the season in the texture of the work.

November is a kind of reset. When it rains for days, there’s nothing left to rush toward. The studio becomes its own small world: a desk light, a warm pot of wax, a candle cooling in its tin. It’s not dramatic. It’s a daily ritual. This is when I find new ideas — not from inspiration, but from repetition. Mixing, labeling, cleaning, pouring again. The sound of a wick centering itself.

There’s something grounding about how scent behaves in this weather. Everything lasts longer. Smoke clings to fabric. A single burn can fill a room for hours. It’s as if the air is thick enough to remember. That’s why I like to burn deeper, slower scents this time of year — things that feel like wool, or wet stone, or old wood. My current rotation is On The Road, Pipe Dream, and Boy Smells’ Cowboy Kush (whatever, I’m allowed to admire the competition). Candles meant for the background, not the spotlight.

I think that’s what November asks of us — to find beauty in small consistencies. To let the world narrow down to the sound of rain and the soft rhythm of work. The studio becomes quieter, but more alive in a way. Every flicker feels earned.

Candles are often described as cozy things, but I think of them more as companions to weather. In summer they catch the last light; in November, they become the light. Each one — hand-poured in my Vancouver candle studio — is a reminder that warmth doesn’t have to be loud. It can be patient, steady, and made by hand, one pour at a time.

Matty