It Truly Is November

Though October brings somber whimsy, November’s winds mourn if you listen closely. And December, as I always say, seems to carry itself on hunched shoulders.

These days, I catch myself thinking too much and writing too little. I sigh an hour away, and in the winter hubris, it’s already dark.

I scream a whisper, in a poet’s way, then I lay down just to wake later – no dreams.

It truly is November.