November

My physio is a little confused as to what is going on with my wayward leg, but she did give me permission to try a ride on the bike and I stole a little trip out in beautiful weather today. The injury wasn't troubled at all by cycling despite the fact that it still gives me some discomfort while walking. My muscles seem to be as big a mystery to her as they are to myself at the moment, although she's confident that she will eventually get to the cause of the problem - which seems most likely to be down to a joint not working as it should. I'm a puzzle - for which there will be a solution!

It felt like an archetypal November day, cold without being freezing, still a bit of colour in the trees as autumn reluctantly relinquishes the seasonal baton to winter. A new member of our writing group recently introduced us to the poetry of Maggie Dietz. I absolutely love what I've read so far. I'm going to assume she'll be happy to have this particular poem reproduced here if it gains her a few more followers. I have a feeling it will. 

November

by Maggie Dietz

Show's over, folks. And didn't October do
A bang-up job? Crisp breezes, full-throated cries
Of migrating geese, low-floating coral moon.


Nothing left but fool's gold in the trees.
Did I love it enough, the full-throttle foliage,
While it lasted? Was I dazzled? The bees


Have up and quit their last-ditch flights of forage
And gone to shiver in their winter clusters.
Field mice hit the barns, big squirrels gorge


On busted chestnuts. A sky like hardened plaster
Hovers. The pasty river, its next of kin,
Coughs up reed grass fat as feather dusters.


Even the swarms of kids have given in
To winter's big excuse, boxed-in allure:
TVs ricochet light behind pulled curtains.


The days throw up a closed sign around four.
The hapless customer who'd wanted something
Arrives to find lights out, a bolted door.