Wednesday, November 14, 2012

November Days

Autumn Grays

My November Guest

My Sorrow, when she’s here with me,
Thinks these dark days of autumn rain
Are beautiful as days can be;
She loves the bare, the withered tree;
She walks the sodden pasture lane.


Her pleasure will not let me stay.
She talks and I am fain to list:
She’s glad the birds are gone away,
She’s glad her simple worsted grey
Is silver now with clinging mist.

Milky Seed

The desolate, deserted trees,
The faded earth, the heavy sky,
The beauties she so truly sees,
She thinks I have no eye for these,
And vexes me for reason why.

Yarrow Stalks

Not yesterday I learned to know
The love of bare November days
Before the coming of the snow,
But it were vain to tell her so,
And they are better for her praise.

— Robert Frost


I want to thank Ashlea for sharing this poem.  It so fit my mood and photos from my recent wanderings, and I was delighted to discover it on her blog yesterday.  November has felt very quiet for me so far.  We are slowing down, taking stock, and truly letting go of some commitments that were not nourishing our family.  Walking outside, I've found a lot of peace in the increasingly barren landscape—watching the forests and fields shed layers of summer growth; watching their stark forms emerge; and learning to know the love of bare November days.  

Puff Heads

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