Every November should be like April



October’s wet rays gave way to cerulean November

Making us all the more grateful for the sun that filters down to our arthritic joints

And almost making a joyful occasion out of gathering the crisp, crackling leaves

That found themselves imprisoned on both sides of our back porch

And caught us unwilling to wait for spring to set them free in the deeper woods

Because it’s November.


These are the days that give us hope,

Make us ignore unemployment rates and national debates.

We can fume in frustration and powerlessness, screaming at the television,

Or, we can grab a rake or the Windex and make our own corner of the world

A little cleaner, neater, brighter,

Relieved to forget about gardening and mowing pasture,

Because it’s November.


Time today for optimism and smiles all around

Because we’re not  yet shivering in our boots.

We know that with days like this,

Spring is a distinct possibility. 

We can even get the calendar and sigh with satisfaction,

Marking, not the days until Christmas,

But the days until we can dig in the dirt

And once again feel the sun’s warmth in our joints.

Because it’s November and we remember April.