November

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There’s nothing left but overall
Remnants of what had once been fall;
Even where a week before
A leaf or two blew through the door
The dwindling days have turned to soot
The little traveling underfoot.
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Snow will follow soon enough
Careening through the unmown scruff
Of jimson weed and bush clover,
Nothing apt to be covered over
With just a midday’s squall—but soon
Winter will stay the afternoon.
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Then who will afterward remember
The few days readied since September?—
The ghostly sighs of thimbleweed,
The breaking knuckles of the reed,
Whole fields of startled hair turned white
Before the year end’s stricken flight.
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I wouldn’t ask but that I know
It’s not just seasons come and go.
When ice gives way to watercress
And all of April’s loveliness,
Remember, though the days are few,
November has its flowers too.
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Pussy Willow Branch (Reduced)·
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by me | January 8 2018

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    This is my first audio recording using my new YETI microphone. My reading of the poem is just okay, but then I’m never satisfied that way. Best that I never hear myself. The poem itself is one I started not in November of last year but the year before, with a haiku. I finally devoted the time to finishing it.
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November 17th 2017

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late
····November—streetlights over the empty
········sidewalks
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Once more I feel as though I’m at wit’s end, having nothing to write, struggling and dissatisfied with the last several haiku. I continue to rewrite them. However, I admit to especially liking the November 13th haiku—among my very favorite. Cheek to cheek, composting, two old lovers. The beginnings of winter are everywhere. Out late last night, walking the back neighborhood of Randolph, Vermont. The yards were white under a thin crust of snow, so thin the blades of the grass still poked through.
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321 November 17th 2017 | bottlecap
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November 12th 2017

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Today I was twice startled by a circling moth; this though it was in the mid-twenties and the shadows kept their ice. Just the heat of the sun, despite the cold air, was all the tiny heart needed.
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frost
····in the morning’s shadows—the moth’s broken
········wings
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316 November 12th 2017 | bottlecap
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November 11th 2017

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Another wintrish day in Vermont. The temperature never climbed above freezing. The pot of water out back in the field only stayed water for as long as the sun shone in it. I kept the wood stove burning through the afternoon. I wonder if I’ll put it out again or whether the cold is here to stay?
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icy
····chimneys—a dozen pillars of moonlight
········rising
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315 November 11th 2017 | bottlecap
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November 10th 2017

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icy
····as wind-chimes—the wind on the window-
········pane
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I came very close to beginning winter season’s haiku this morning. We had a brief snow squall last night and the dust of snow has stuck to the grass all day; and all day the temperature’s have fallen such that some parts of Vermont are already in the teens and sub-zero. But I don’t think one winter’s visitation merits the end of autumn. Autumn still has a few days left. There are still green leaves in the shrubs and saplings that always seem to make the most of the last sunny days without a summer’s canopy above them.
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314 September 10th 2017 | bottlecap
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