Cold November
It’s finally becoming cold enough to freeze the ground, and leave a good frost. I think tonight I’ll continue with this fall theme, set up so kindly by Mr. Yeats last evening.
I love the last lines of this poem, simply because it’s what I do when autumn drifts in, after a few months of indecision. Every evening I seem to be staying up late, reading, writing long letters, and wishing to be out wandering. (Though I won’t go out wandering the roads past sunset, because of the coyotes.)
“Autumn Day”
Lord: it is time. The summer was so immense.
Lay your shadow on the sundials,
and let loose the wind in the fields.
Bid the last fruits to be full,
give them another two more southerly days,
press them to ripeness, and chase
the last sweetness into the heavy wine.
Whoever has no house now will not build one anymore.
Whoever is alone now will remain so for a long time,
will stay up, read, write long letters,
and wander the avenues, up and down,
restlessly, while the leaves are blowing.
RAINER MARIE RILKE
