No Bounty

For me November has always brought the advent of sight's season, especially in the woods; often, what has been hidden by leaves – a burl, a nest, an old sign – comes clear. - Thoreau

a mutiny on blye

my head bumps up against a low, weighing, november sky

wond'ring geese honking with dumbfounded ducks squawking

trees undressed and shivering

morning's grass frosted

poetry straining to etch in visible breaths

cold taking up residence and squatting in my bones

barrenness seemingly a lie

a sudden desire to head south, don't bother asking why

Author's Note

“As surely as the sunset in my latest November shall translate me to the ethereal world, and remind me of the ruddy morning of youth; as surely as the last strain of music which falls on my decaying ear shall make age to be forgotten, or, in short, the manifold influences of nature survive during the term of our natural life, so surely my Friend shall forever be my Friend, and reflect a ray of God to me, and time shall foster and adorn and consecrate our Friendship, no less than the ruins of temples.” - Thoreau