NOVEMBER 



"November woods are bare and still, 

 November days are clear and bright; 

 Each noon burns up the morning's chill 

 The morning's snow is gone by night. 

 Each day my steps grow slow, grow light 

 As through the woods I reverent creep 

 Watching all things lie down to sleep. 



And half I smile and half I weep 

 Listening while they lie down to sleep." 



— Helen Hunt Jackson. 



The leafless tree is the first sign manual of 

 November. One awakens from the dream of 

 October splendor dazed a little by the sudden 

 crash with which all its glories fell to earth. 

 By and by the compensations come in, and the 

 silhouettes of trees softly etched against the 

 horizon line bring their own message of beauty. 

 The fields are sere, each day shows more ravages 

 of storm and frost, the dull days depress the 

 spirit, and almost in bitterness we are ready to 

 say with Hood: 



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