Wool and Spice

At the beginning of November I found a poem by Clyde Watson that I really liked. Throughout the month I used several of the lines for the titles of posts. My original idea was to use the whole poem as titles but didn’t get that far because a) I didn’t post that often and b) I don’t have a gate or a bucket filled with ice (see below). I didn’t take them in order but used what came to hand when I could.

When I found the poem I’d never heard of Clyde Watson so of course I did a little Googling. Turns out, she’s a she, not a he, and was born and raised in Vermont (my home state). Her description of her childhood among her seven siblings sounds enchanting, in a household where both parents were involved with books, either writing or illustrating. She’s the author of numerous children’s books, most of which appear to be out of print, but Amazon has Midnight Moon that’s on its way to me.

Maybe next time I can get through a whole poem in one month.  It was a fun theme, even if I was the only one who knew what I was doing.

November comes
And November goes,
With the last red berries
And the first white snows.

With night coming early,
And dawn coming late,
And ice in the bucket
And frost by the gate.

The fires burn
And the kettles sing,
And earth sinks to rest
Until next spring.
-  Clyde Watson

&&

We took advantage of the warm weather this weekend to get outdoor holiday lights and the wreath up. Feeling all virtuous about getting an early-for-me start on the Christmas cards I went to pull them from the cupboard. Hah. I misremembered that we bought cards already so take two steps back on the holiday-prep path.  Ratzen fratzen.

I start a new temp assignment on Wednesday so the blogging may get scarce again. This one’s short, only a few weeks and requires me to drive into the city every day. I’ve been spoiled for the last 10 years, avoiding rush hour traffic, but knew it would eventually end.

Tags: Clyde Watson, holidays, November