Paul Simon has a song with that title which I can't say I understand, but I think I know when numbers get serious every month, and that's when they hit the twenties. Numbers live a short life in November or any month. Twenty is getting old, and in November, 20 is the day the captain announces, "Ladies and gentlemen, we're beginning our descent into Thanksgiving." And that's right, it's less than a week away, certainly a day to prepare for. (It's that word, Thanksgiving. It's as long as a train, and all the colors of a first grader's paper plate turkey with tailfeathers fanned. A cornucopia of a word, an elementary school take-home flyer of a word. And she is seriously the tsarina of the twenties. This year: 26.)
There are only about nineteen leaves still on the young maple tree we planted three years ago on the grassy strip next to our neighbor's driveway. It's a good thirteen feet tall now with a handful of red leaves shivering like paratroopers sitting stoically in a cargo bay. Trees ARE calendars, of course, their rings are neat simulacra of the sun's orbits. But you can only look back after the tree has been separated from its roots. Now that's ironic.
It's hard to look back on one day, let alone a lifetime of days. It rained. It was warm. The mailman wore shorts again. The clouds were titanic Miyazaki clouds, massing dangerously against the blue, muttering "It's true, we can't deal with you now as we'd like, but just try to stay out of our way, just try!"
That's all I have to say, it being nighttime and Friday, but November 20th deserves a serious handshake and a lime rickey or two. Dude--
We all need to spend more time drifting
For daydreams and thoughts require sifting.
In bed or a boat
It’s important to float,
A practice both wise and uplifting.
I’m falling asleep at this keyboard
I have no idea what my re-ward
Will... (Okay, that was random.
Dude, think of your fandom!
And end with a loud C-E-G chord!)