November in the upper Midwest often feels like a “fifth season” to me — different from autumn and winter in ways that are not easily described. But “Praise Song” by Barbara Crooker helps me see that November is about the abundance to be found in certain kinds of scarcity.
It’s in the trees stripped of their leaves, allowing me to see the astonishing intricacy of these everyday companions. It’s in the way life carries on even as the cold deepens and the greenery disappears. It’s in the fact that even a little sunlight can warm me all over, body and soul. It’s in the way the nights get longer, reminding me that (as Roethke wrote) “in a dark time the eye begins to see.”
And, as “Praise Song” makes clear, it’s in learning to praise despite the brevity of my days, to count my blessings no matter how small. As I do, my blessings seem to grow larger…
by Barbara Crooker
Praise the light of late November,
the thin sunlight that goes deep in the bones.
Praise the crows chattering in the oak trees;
though they are clothed in night, they do not