Scarecrows from Bernardston MA Scarecrow Festival.


November seems to descend from the heavens, dropping a curtain of longer twilight. November drops the curtain on color and light here in New England.  It’s dark by supper time, and still dark in the morning. The sun slants differently, with less warmth.  We know the period of darkness lengthens. Many of us wish to have more quiet time, more sipping hot drinks while working, more glancing out the windows as the last leaves flutter.


Bernardston MA has their locally famous Scarecrows in the Park, and the last ones still stand across from Streeter’s General Store, celebrating the end of Autumn, and the beginning of an inner season.


And so, an Ode to November, the beginning of a season that brings longer nights, cold, the community gathering for meals, and time for introspection.


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 bedtime

the eases into browns and greys


With scattered red berries

puckered purple grapes

winter hasn’t emerged yet

although she’s expected


Garden plots are cleared

in anticipation of  Winter’s arrival

like the tide line between sand and sea

November separates seasons


Of life pushing out of seed and egg

before returning to ground

waits for those last geese to fly

holds her cards close to her chest


Listen to the water ripple against the shore

and honor Manannán Mac Lir

I have not beaten gold into form

but I place an offering in the water




This small golden boat was left as tribute toManannán Mac Lir.  It now resides in the National Museum of History & Archeology in Dublin rather than the lake it was found in.


While November marks for me a period of introspection,  of slowing down, and spending more time alone, I realize for other people who don’t live so closely tied to the land and season, there are other perspectives, people who live in other climates where growing doesn’t stop, or the warm season begins. What happens in November for you, where you are, that you welcome?

About elainereardon

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

1 Response to November

  1. Dorothy McIver says:

    Love it and it captures this time of year perfectly.

    Liked by 1 person

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