1. Because finally, I appreciate weeds again as textures come to the fore. Leaves are on the ground, and if they aren’t, they have adopted a deliciously curled stance that looks like a good hair day.
2. We get to anticipate winter, a season that reminds us life is full of trade offs. We have to drive slowly on ice and show while life gains holiday momentum; we welcome the respite of January while wearying of early darkness.
3. We learn again how beautiful and restful neutral colors are.
4. We remember that life is seasonal. We want some seasons to last and try to do our part to ensure their longevity. But if they don’t, we learn to let go. Another season is coming.
5. “November” is the title of my first published sonnet. It took 14 hours to write. Charles Waugaman once said writing a good poem could often take longer than prose. I didn’t believe him. After that sonnet, I did.
November’s melancholy calms my sighs
with somber grays. Her muted beauty speaks
of rest between October’s flaming skies
and gold December’s rush of frenzied weeks.
My hectic senses pause, each in its turn,
as snow’s white calmness stills the slightest sound
and passive, smoky skies let me discern
majestic grace in softened light. I’ve found
the touch of moistened wind a crisper taste,
a sweeter breath in early-shadowed days.
Breathe on, November, wrap me in your chaste
low clouds. Bereft of color, you hold my gaze.
Enthralled by ageless charm I walk your length,
throw wide my arms, drink deeply of your strength.
The Lyric, Fall, 1996