A hundred and one lingering, luminous impressions of the month when the ripe fullness of the Canadian autumn wilts and the whole earth seems to settle into brooding calm. This is a ciné-poem, reflecting the somber moods of November, the still, waiting separateness when the Canadian year dawdles, hangs back from the hour when the first snowfall will make all things even. But from the muted tones of the dying season emerges a new, stark beauty. Film without words.