November, Not So Much - Poem by Bill Galvin
November in the northern latitudes
Is when Nature is at her weakest;
She works with what little she has,
But what comes about surely is the bleakest.
This month is one of transition,
As we watch her Fall colors fade and go;
We’re left with shades of brown and gray,
And rains so cold and raw, we long for snow.
Snow at least makes the landscape whiten.
Trees may be bare; north winds bring chills;
But snowfall sets the imagination to brighten,
And paints over all the lifeless, colorless hills.
But, I am a lover of the Natural world,
And no world is perfect; so, as such,
All months have something to praise, write about;
But, November, not so much.
Ah… but, look here…
Some bushes with red berries, unique to Fall,
Bringing a pause to the November bleakness;
Maybe there’s something here after all.
The berries appear at the foreground
Like a plein-air painting in oils;
An artist dabs a red brush onto the brown scene,
And bleakness startles and recoils.
Okay, so maybe not “not so much”,
Maybe a little bit of the month has some soul.
I strive to see the beauty of bleakness,
As a small part of the beauteous whole.
The sun shines half of the time,
So there’s hope for the seasonally affected;
And as the light shines on the branches of trees
Once hidden, there’s beauty in such light reflected.
The northeast winds blow across the hills,
And corral in corners the drifting russet leaves;
The strays bounce around until snagged
By blades of grassy lawn or dried stalks of weeds.
The golden-brown rods of marshy reeds,
The yellow blades of marshy grass,
Lend a touch of earthy brilliance to the scenes,
And, now I see, November is, in its dullness,
As delicious to the senses as any other month.
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