November Sonnet

by Elizabeth Jennings

Spirit of place.  Spirit of time. Re-form

The rugged oaks and chestnuts.  Now they stand

Naked and pallid giants out of storm

And out of sorts.  It is the Autumn's end

And this Winter brought in by All Saints

Fast followed by All Souls to keep us in

Touch with chill and death.  Each re-acquaints

Us with the year's end. Yet we now begin

A life of realism, watching out

For a red sunset, grateful for a dawn

Of rich light now.  Tall shadows step and and strut

Facing the big wind daily coming on

Faster.  This is the season of right doubt

While that elected child waits to be born.