Today I am - jogged through the November woods - with spring-like temperatures of almost 17 degrees. As a kickoff to the "November" time here - I think - successful poem of my colleagues Burkhard Mayer (with permission) to November:
November
cover up very happy in fog
Are not inverted
you years Residual Beauty recycler
defoliation with its own magic
you organize a summer theater
prefer their wind chimes
And crying in the woods and streets
Can clouds in the sky fade
show your earthy colors
show your wealth in the Barren
slob lost time Give
silence of silence and low light weight
processors'accounts
slow the course of the year
And the soul to breathe it.
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