Some thoughts on November:
"The name 'November' is believed to derive from 'novem' which
is the Latin for the number 'nine'. In the ancient
Roman calendar November was the ninth month after March. As part of the seasonal calendar November is the
time of the 'Snow Moon' according to Pagan beliefs and the period described as the 'Moon of the Falling Leaves'
by Black Elk."
- Mystical WWW
Roman calendar November was the ninth month after March. As part of the seasonal calendar November is the
time of the 'Snow Moon' according to Pagan beliefs and the period described as the 'Moon of the Falling Leaves'
by Black Elk."
- Mystical WWW
"The wild gander leads his flock through the cool night,
Ya-honk! he says, and sounds it down to me like an invitation:
The pert may suppose it meaningless, but I listen closer,
I find its purpose and place up there toward the November sky."
- Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass, 1855, I Celebrate Myself, Line 238
Ya-honk! he says, and sounds it down to me like an invitation:
The pert may suppose it meaningless, but I listen closer,
I find its purpose and place up there toward the November sky."
- Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass, 1855, I Celebrate Myself, Line 238
"The body is like a November birch facing the full moon
And reaching into the cold heavens.
In these trees there is no ambition, no sodden body, no leaves,
Nothing but bare trunks climbing like cold fire!
My last walk in the trees has come. At dawn
I must return to the trapped fields,
To the obedient earth.
The trees shall be reaching all the winter.
It is a joy to walk in the bare woods.
The moonlight is not broken by the heavy leaves.
The leaves are down, and touching the soaked earth,
Giving off the odors that partridges love."
And reaching into the cold heavens.
In these trees there is no ambition, no sodden body, no leaves,
Nothing but bare trunks climbing like cold fire!
My last walk in the trees has come. At dawn
I must return to the trapped fields,
To the obedient earth.
The trees shall be reaching all the winter.
It is a joy to walk in the bare woods.
The moonlight is not broken by the heavy leaves.
The leaves are down, and touching the soaked earth,
Giving off the odors that partridges love."
- Robert Bly, Solitude Late at Night in the Woods
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