November in the northern hemisphere is well known for its lack of light and hope.

The last remnants of autumn flowers are defeated by rain and wind and the firework of turning leaves are swirled into the mud.

But robins still sing round bubbles of song and siskins jangle their pocketfuls of keys over the grey sky.

A skein of cormorants is waylaid by the low fog, but still pushes on through and from a wet apple tree, a dozen red kites lift off at midday to catch the upward air.

Their wings are sharp against the gloom and their sissor tails cut out a wedge of grey sky as they wheel slowly, magnificently upwards .

Thomas Hood

No sun — no moon!
No morn — no noon —
No dawn — no dusk — no proper time of day.

No warmth, no cheerfulness, no healthful ease,
No comfortable feel in any member —
No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees,
No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds! —


11 thoughts on “No

  1. Driftless Roots says:

    It’s break time! While there really is plenty of nature going on outside, I welcome this time of year to don the flannel and woolens and curl up with a good book—vintage natural history titles at the moment—over a pot of tea or a mug of cocoa. Well, that would be the case if we weren’t experiencing record high temperatures. :]

    Liked by 2 people

  2. johnlmalone says:

    Cathy, I love your prose poem. I thought of you today as one of the possible contributors to a little anthology that seems to be forming on my post: ‘Which Animal are you?” While I love this piece — in fact, I’m committing it to my commonplace book, it doesn’t quite fit the post. Have you a poem you can post to ‘Which Animal Are You?’I would love to see it. Cheers. John

    Liked by 2 people

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