there is a pause
at the final turning
of November,
before the season
firmly closes,
that may be entered
if the juncture
between foot and path
is timed just so
there stillness rests
in cool absolute –
a mantle of calm,
a lesson in breath
© Sarah Whiteley
November blows in
bearing a hundred
different songs
about her wind,
leaving one ditty
to rattle and drum
upon the limbs
of the locust
you know this one,
I tell myself,
if you’ve forgotten
the words, just hum
© Sarah Whiteley
November is upon us, and I’m not quite sure what happened to September and October. But then I suppose a crazy schedule will do that to a person and before you know it, days and whole weeks slip away without a leaving any impression at all other than a chaotic blur.
Things have calmed down a bit for me finally and I am determined to get back to the habit (and pleasure) of writing. For the month of November, I am tasking myself with drafting at least one poem a day. Many of these won’t be posted – they’ll be put aside to be tweaked later with the intention of compiling them into a new manuscript. But it feels good to set my mind to a creative task. One that will leave an impression and will keep the days from slipping by without remark.
And one of these days, I’ll post an update about the crows. They’re gathering their numbers for the winter roost, so I will at least try first to capture a quick video of them tagging along for an autumn walk with the dogs (which always turns heads in the neighborhood).
Happy November to all!
I wake before the wrens
so that I can hike
alone up the rise
and watch the gold
of new light arrive
and each time
there is a pleasure
in its crunching
beneath my feet like
bright, brittle ice
© Sarah Whiteley
I am becoming
the color of fall
when it stoops
to November,
russet when it
succumbs to gray
in quiet,
unnoticed ways
until suddenly
the briar leans
bare against
the fence
bleak, wild
and forgettable
© Sarah Whiteley
a dozen dark-eyed juncos,
full of bright yes-es,
skitter through a feast
of fallen cones
for days now I’ve carried
the polished comfort
of a horse chestnut
like a talisman
though no earthly charm
will reconcile the leaves
back onto November trees
when October finally yields
© Sarah Whiteley
November chill
rusts the dogwood,
scatters the locust seeds
down the sodden street
the maple this year
shows an unusual
reluctance for red
but today gray was made
a near beautiful thing –
a frame for the darker
darts of the chickadees
in the yellow goodbye
of the chestnut tree
© Sarah Whiteley
the leaves have dropped
burnt out finally after
the last conflagration
and the fog drifts in
most mornings now
a shroud for ashen skies
hangs about sometimes
until noon even
days like this call
for extra cups of coffee
with an extra spoon of sugar –
something hot and sweet
to cup chilled hands about
a talisman against graying days
and the sooner dark
thoughts of you
were once my August
in the icy weeks to come
now I have the warmly
snoring bodies of dogs
and extra doses
of coffee the color
of 5 AM in December
© Sarah Whiteley
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