Submitted Mar 1/08

In turfing out years of pack-ratting, I found the attached, and in reading I was "touched" by its contents as if it had been written by a stranger, so it occurred to me that it might be fitting for your November issue.
Six months earlier I had come back to a small village, actually across the bay from where I was born, and in mid-September we had a fire that destroyed the top storey of our house and water damaged the remainder. In October, after watching the pattern of sun and shade changing over the hills on the far side, I wrote an "October Song" and sent it to friends back "home" in Halifax. They loved it, so I meant to do one for each month - I didn't, but here's November. My writing is, and always has been, execrable, but I resist getting a writer.

November Song (1993)

Gray, chill and leafless - outcast among
the months
Bridge that must be crossed between
shirtsleeved outdoors and heavy-jacketed winter

Yet there are moments to treasure like a
rare tapestry

On the pond the ducks circle in their small
space of open water

Confused by the overnight happening that prevents
them reaching their breakfast

I watch as they learn to break the thin ice,
then holding my coat tightly against the early
morning chill

Walk back across the frosted grass to the
welcome warmth of the kitchen

Earlier still, from my window I had seen,
silhouetted against the frost-rimed branches
on the far side of the pond, a magnificent
yearling moose, his bearing imperial -

Then, at the noise of a closing door he
was gone with surprising grace into the woods
beyond

With the sun, now appearing through the clouds,
the frost will disappear, erasing our foot and
hoof prints, but we had both tasted the
frozen scene in our own way

I see the boat coming in fast to the slip
and begin to prepare a hot breakfast for
a man who will shortly come into the room
with delight on his face

- not for me, but for the morning's catch,
or, disappointment at the absence of catch,
but optimistic that tomorrow will be better

We bow our heads and return thanks to God
for our food, and my heart is full of gratitude
for the good things of both land and sea
that we have preserved for use in the
coming winter

We dress warmly and walk across the
damp lawn to continue the work on our
fire-gutted home

The weatherman predicts snow later
in the day

Mostly gray, cold and lifeless but with
low shrubs still bravely showing colour,

NOVEMBER, I salute you!   Submitted By: NULL