I have been reading Frost’s poems about November to my class this week. Even though we are on the opposite side of the country and a little further north (read—even darker than Derry New Hampshire at 4:30 PM) they resonate. We all understand the dark days of November. We have driven narrow mountain roads lined with fir trees that meet overhead, lace through clouds, and block the last bits of light from the afternoon sky. We have walked to school in fog rising from the ground, obscuring the hills around town. We have raked the leaves that cover the greening grass and dodged the piles in the bike lanes. And, more than any other place in the country, we know clouds, piles and layers of clouds that hide the moon and sun for weeks at a time. We know November.
My November Guest
My Sorrow, when she's here with me,
Thinks these dark days of autumn rain
Are beautiful as days can be;
She loves the bare, the withered tree;
She walked the sodden pasture lane.
Her pleasure will not let me stay.
She talks and I am fain to list:
She's glad the birds are gone away,
She's glad her simple worsted gray
Is silver now with clinging mist.
The desolate, deserted trees,
The faded earth, the heavy sky,
The beauties she so truly sees,
She thinks I have no eye for these,
And vexes me for reason why.
Not yesterday I learned to know
The love of bare November days
Before the coming of the snow,
But it were vain to tell her so,
And they are better for her praise.
We also know Hot chocolate, the perfect November beverage.
¼ c chocolate chips
1 t sugar
3 cups of milk
¼ t vanilla or cinnamon, or both.
Heat and serve in big mugs after a long damp walk.