November

What a characteristically lovely November day. I've been rained on more than that annoying bloke out of Travis, and been covered in seventeen different kinds of mud crossing various fields and woods. This is about the best shot I got from my afternoon's trudge. There's birds and trees and stuff. Hooray.

While you're pondering the picture, why not have a listen to Tom Waits' eerie song of the same name?

No shadow no stars
no moon no cars
November
it only believes
in a pile of dead leaves
and a moon
that's the color of bone

No prayers for November
to linger longer
stick your spoon in the wall
we'll slaughter them all

November has tied me
to an old dead tree
get word to April
to rescue me
November's cold chain

Made of wet boots and rain
and shiny black ravens
on chimney smoke lanes
November seems odd
you're my firing squad
November

With my hair slicked back
with carrion shellac
with the blood from a pheasant
and the bone from a hare
tied to the branches
of a roebuck stag
left to wave in the timber
like a buck shot flag

Go away you rainsnout
Go away, blow your brains out
November