bare november days

how did it happen? why did i let the month of november just pass me by? getting a little rusty, i suppose.

this is exactly what happens when you get lost in the daily obligations of midterms and papers. the bare november days pass you by. so here i am, first apologizing, then making amends, and celebrating the beautiful, noble, graceful month of november. the month that feels like it jumped out of an 18th century Russian poem. (not to mention that the October Revolution was also in november, you know, makes it all the more cooler)

i had always tried to appreciate and enjoy the november rain, or get all moody and crank up my morrison, drink coffee not to stay awake to memorize yet another name of yet another useless face of the history, but to stay awake to read a few more pages of frost and to wonder whether or not the school actually resembles a poem of robert's (as a teacher pointed out a few weks past) and to finally conclude that it does not. i don't know what it resembles. maybe it does resemble frost. who knows...

anyways--two of the greatest things ever done honoring the bare days of November. One's playing in the background as I type these. A love song that could easily go up against any poem, novel, story you can find. looks like it won't rain tonight and we ran out of dark, misty november nights as of midnight---but make sure you give this one a try on some other november day when it rains.



not to mention that this is a man you look at and just assume he has a good heart. he may be a lot of things, but he just doesn't sem evil, you know. besides, he had the greatest hair of human history. scratch all this, just listen to the song, it'll tell you all the backgound info you need to enjoy, which is none.

second great thing of november. requires no introduction, no explanation. The poem that made me love novembers--the poem that made me love poems even more. one of those that will be in my head till the day i die.

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 grady
Is silver now with clinging mist.

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

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

R.F.

and i know all this seems a little misguided and lost within itself. but what can i do, i get all hasty when i get excited.