November

Here's a seasonal poem I wrote 5 years ago:

November

It came with a new caliber of acceptance.

No one expected change but nothing did

and it had been years of this.

Reminders of mortgages, mortality

still took the spring out of steps,

but leaves turned to be admired, raked

and along with the windows

we weatherproofed our thought-streams

from the penetrating chill.

Shorter days meant less time for daydreaming--

talk turned to heating oil and stew ingredients.

Those pagan songs of summer forgotten,

we made like a family under inherited wool

pulled from the attic.

The brazen brace of a young frost triggered rodent urgency

and the fierce crust of sunlight on the rooftops in the late 

afternoons mostly went unnoticed.