November in New England


New England November

Tail end of autumn
the in-between time
bare maples branches
dry leaves scuttle

A young bear pushes his nose
into heaped up leaves
poking through for acorns
coyotes howl late afternoon
once twilight falls
barred owls call right up
until bed time

The land reads browns and greys
scattered red berries
puckered purple grapes.
Winter hasn’t emerged yet,
although she’s expected.
Garden plots are groomed
in anticipation of her arrival.


Like the tide line between sand and sea
November separates the seasons
of life pushing out of seed and egg,
then returning to ground
November holds her cards close
taking her time
waits for those last geese to fly


Listen to the water ripple against the shore
and honor Manannan mac Lir
I have not gold to skillfully beat into form
I bow and put an offering into to the water

Version 2IMG_0047

We begin our journey towards Winter

About elainereardon

Poet, writer, gardener, herbalist, pottery, painting—bumping into magic, peeking around new corners.
This entry was posted in Poems. Bookmark the permalink.