November Nov 14, 2013

The sturdy bones of the Vermont landscape are revealed now.

Inspired by a new poem from renowned musician (and Rutland native) James Mee, I went looking for November.

As the light was fading on Tuesday I returned home to find her in my back yard.

Inspiration is where we find it, and it’s often close to home.

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November

By James Mee

November, mask of beauty stark.

Trees bare to their bones.

Autumn’s splendor silent now

Reduced to sticks and stones.

 

Her yards fill with fallen leaves.

Raked and set to roast.

The smokey plumes at last set free

Become a thousand ghosts.

 

Gray skies of November bleak

A light that has no name.

Their melancholy broods the soul

As she stakes her claim.

 

She’s not winter, feels not fall

It is her gift, I guess.

But she is here and she is now

And I must acquiesce.

 

Each moment must surrender

To that proclaimed to be.

But her changes do come hard

for someone made like me.

 

Harsh winds blow the birds about

like swirling feathered leaves.

They whisper, “Winter’s on the way-

best warn those naked trees.”

 

In a moment come to be

It’s then that I remember.

This wonder of the in-between

This limbo called November.

 

Copyright 2013 James Mee

 

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