Let’s raise a glass

Here we are again, my old friend November. You're a formidable foe, but you're on the way out for another year and I'm still writing. So, here's to you, November, and your relentlessly grey skies, your bare branches, your frozen water bucket mornings, your summerish deceptions, your early dusks, your inevitable lurch towards winter. I… Continue reading Let’s raise a glass

On this warm November day

The Birds are heading south, pulled by a compass in the genes. They are not fooled by this odd November summer, though we stand in our doorways wearing cotton dresses. We are watching them as they swoop and gather— the shadow of wings falls over the heart. When they rustle among the empty branches, the… Continue reading On this warm November day

Wormholing through Monday

This is how it started. It started because today is Gordon Lightfoot's birthday, so he was on my mind (regular readers know I have a thing about Gordon). Alarm went off (Nick Lowe crooning in my ear), but first thing I think is, "It's November 17. Gordon's birthday." And that's how it started. I opened… Continue reading Wormholing through Monday

How about November?

"How about November?" asks poet Mary Ruefle (in her lecture "On Secrets") when, every April, she's asked to contribute to a poetry reading in recognition of National Poetry Month. April's been crowned the month of poetry, but what does April need with poems? April is her own poem, all hopeful, beckoning and unfurling. Poetry in… Continue reading How about November?

November 1

Día de los Muertos, Merida, Yucatan First, a wide-angled view, as if in a travel brochure, or watching from a high balcony, or the cathedral's tower: Four tourists, wandering the open city square, where vendors sell roasted ears of corn, slathered with mayonnaise, cheese, and spices. The decorated city streets radiate from the square like… Continue reading November 1