Frost

It feels decidedly like November.  I am a fan of this month.  It’s a windy silent gray time more often than not, but it’s the calm before the storm, (literally and figuratively) and I like the reserved perspective it brings. 

I like to read Robert Frost most often in November, mainly because I know he always expressed a love for fall when putting pen to paper, and I find agreement with the things he said.  It is always nice to spend part of my morning with coffee, the sunrise filling the view from my window, silence with God, and Frost poetry.  This morning I like best the short poem, “Meeting and Passing”.

 

AS I went down the hill along the wall
There was a gate I had leaned at for the view
And had just turned from when I first saw you
As you came up the hill. We met. But all
We did that day was mingle great and small
Footprints in summer dust as if we drew
The figure of our being less than two
But more than one as yet. Your parasol
Pointed the decimal off with one deep thrust.
And all the time we talked you seemed to see
Something down there to smile at in the dust.
(Oh, it was without prejudice to me!)
Afterward I went past what you had passed
Before we met and you what I had passed.
- Robert Frost