November
First frost awakes a nesting urge
To cast aside the summer’s leisure,
Lay in storage all life’s pleasure
Readying for winter’s dirge
With mindset fixed so foolish, firm
I miss the fiery hands that tease
My mind, so resolute, to ease
And memory store, against the term
When winter’s chill tempts to forget
That there exists but ice and gray
Oh, to recall that crisp bouquet
Instead, awaiting spring’s coquette.
November comes and spirit grieves
For opportunity expired
To warm my soul by tree-bough fire
Recalling autumn leaves.
I long for New England every fall. My heart aches to breathe the air and absorb all those beautiful colors. Not being there is almost a mourning experience for me every year - it's so funny! You'd have thought tracting in sub-zero temperatures would cure me of it and make me perfectly content with my CA fall and winter, but I always long for a visit. It's fun to pop onto your blog every once and a while and "hear" your voice. Love to the Chastons!
ReplyDeleteBack at ya, Melanie -- we love you, too!
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