Another poem

I like getting these poems from The Writer's Almanac from American Public Media. Sometimes they are stupid, sometimes poignant, sometimes fun and sometimes they make me long for things, like this one does. I really miss that cold feeling that creeps into the air in autumn in the Northern Plains. Here, in Norfolk, we go from soggy hot to soggy cold. This poem reminds me of those crisp evenings which lead to mornings with icy noses and warm toes under the down comforter. Maybe it is time to consider a future return north. I guess time and careers will tell. Enjoy the poem; I have.


The Hunkering
by: Donald Hall

In October the red leaves going brown heap and
scatter
over hayfield and dirt road, over garden and circular
driveway,

and rise in a curl of wind disheveled as
schoolchildren
at recess, school just starting and summer done,
winter's

white quiet beginning in ice on the windshield, in
hard frost
that only blue asters survive, and in the long houses
that once

more tighten themselves for darkness and
hunker down.