My father read this poem to me from the Golden Book of Poetry when I was little. I remember not understanding it, not being properly horrified by the nothingness that Thomas Hood dreaded in November.
No sun – no moon!
No morn – no noon –
No dawn – no dusk – no proper time of day.
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! –
November, the real November that we are supposed to have, with overcast skies, almost continuous drizzle, and the occasional whiff of snow borne south, has gone missing. I miss the real November. This impostor November has been cold enough to bring bright colors to the leaves, most of which are now fallen. The drought worries me. The sun is getting on my nerves.
Could you please tone it down a bit?
The drought, ongoing since mid-July, is a concern. We did not water as we should have done. Of course I watered plants and bushes in the heat of the summer, but by the time I thought of giving the very largest trees a deep soaking–which I started to do a couple of days ago–the nights dropped below freezing, and all water to the outdoors is turned off.
The Farmer’s Almanac predicts a snowy winter, but following hard upon a very hot and dry summer and fall, I fear losing more trees and worse when the snow falls on dry and brittle branches.
Besides which, I confess: I love rain. Sunny days are pleasant now and then, but there is nothing like a nice, rainy day to put me in a good mood. Unless of course it is a thunderstorm on a sweltering summer day. So off to the Northwest with me? Seattle? Portland?
I think I caught the one overcast moment (I exaggerate, but not much) of this entire fall last Sunday afternoon.
Do you miss the rain? Do you miss November?