November
- L. Adams
- Nov 1, 2019
- 2 min read
" November-with uncanny witchery in its changed trees. With murky red sunsets flaming in smoky crimson behind the westering hills. With dear days when the austere woods were beautiful and gracious in a dignified serenity of folded hands and closed eyes-days full of a fine, pale sunshine that sifted through the late, leafless gold of the juniper-trees and glimmered among the grey beeches, lighting up evergreen banks of moss and washing the colonnades of the pines. Days with a high-sprung sky of flawless turquoise. Days when an exquisite melancholy seemed to hang over the landscape and dream about the lake. But days, too, of the wild blackness of great autumn storms, followed by dank, wet, streaming nights when there was witch-laughter in the pines and fitful moans among the mainland trees."
-The Blue Castle-
i think Lucy Montgomery described my favorite season quite well. words that flow through my mind like silk and shimmer in my soul. truly, a wonderful writer. she really had a way with words.
and valancy. how lucky she was on her island of blue pines. her own blue castle. i wonder where other peoples blue castles would be. ever since i read about valancy, i've always envied her the island, the cabin, and the cats. and who wasn't just a little bit in love with barney snaith? he was mysterious with a whimsical side.
there is the twisty street,
the dirty street,
the cobbled street.
with shops of everything,
the bake shops,
the clothes shops.
and houses of sizes,
the small houses,
the great big houses.
behind everything the river,
the muddy river,
the rolling, oily river.
and on the river the ships,
the steam ships,
the passenger ships.
and above it all, the fog,
the mysterious fog,
the smoky fog.
and irritating all, the rain,
the sooty rain,
the drizzling rain.
and seagulls gawking in the park,
the dusky night,
the glowing lamps.
and me,
alone on the bench,
underneath an
umbrella.
lp 2019
please tell me in the comment box below, what this reminded you of. thank you. i love feed back, and have a wonderful weekend.
I was reading the first part and thinking, "this is not original, can't be" when you said Lucy wrote it, all the dots connected. Love the Blue Castle. Also the poem sounds like a introvert. You're amazing!
that is awesome:)
This poem just sounds like the person on the bench is a sixty year old man, smoking his pipe, in Boston, in the late 1800s. It’s so easy to picture.