Sunday, 9 November 2008

Some November Thoughts


No sun--no moon!
No morn--no noon!
No dawn--no dusk--no proper time of day--
No sky--no earthly view--
No distance looking blue--

No road--no street--
No "t'other side the way"--
No end to any Row--
No indications where the Crescents go--

No top to any steeple--
No recognitions of familiar people--
No courtesies for showing 'em--
No knowing 'em!

No mail--no post--
No news from any foreign coast--
No park--no ring--no afternoon gentility--
No company--no nobility--

No warmth, no cheerfulness, no healthful ease,
No comfortable feel in any member--
No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees,
No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds,

Thomas Hood

Well, the weather, which has been so lovely, is now rapidly heading to something much more in line with Thomas Hood's vision of November, and I'm finding myself feeling tired and grumpy. The end of daylight savings time has made a big difference in how short the days feel.

It doesn't help that I'll be very busy for the next few weeks, and will be unable to post much if anything. (Note to tenants: Stop moving! Moving season is over. Just quit it. And next time, try to keep the damned magic markers out of reach of your toddlers. Srsly.) At least they are moving out a few weeks early and we will have time to wrestle with the magic marker before the next round of tenants move in.

In the mean time, I will try to remember a different autumn poem:

I built my cottage among the habitations of men,
And yet there is no clamor of carriages and horses.
You ask: "Sir, how can this be done?"
"A heart that is distant creates its own solitude."
I pluck chrysanthemums under the eastern hedge,
Then gaze afar towards the southern hills.
The mountain air is fresh at the dusk of day;
The flying birds in flocks return.
In these things there lies a deep meaning;
I want to tell it, but have forgotten the words."

Tao Yuan Ming

Oh and this one's good; I like this one, and it brings us back to my favourite theme:

Buckwheat Cakes

Now the frost is in the air.
Blue the haze at early dawn.
There is color everywhere.
Old and ragged looks the lawn.
Autumn's resting on the hills.
Harvested are fruit and grain,
And the home with gladness thrills.
Buckwheat cakes are back again!
Every season has its joys,
Every day its touch of mirth.
For us all - both girls and boys -
God has well supplied the earth.
What if care must fall between
Peace and pleasure now and then?
Autumn holds this happy scene:
Buckwheat cakes are back again!
Time and trouble change us all,
Youth gives way to middle age,
One by one our fancies fall
Till we reach life's final stage,
But in spite of aches and pains
And the difference old age makes,
Man devoted still remains
To a stack of buckwheat cakes."

Edgar A. Guest

Hope to be back soon, with some buckwheat cakes or other goodies.

1 comment:

Haley said...

Hello! Love your blog... it has such a comfortable feel :)