Tuesday, November 1, 2016

November 1: Frost Winds, Warmth, Grading Essay Exams

I have glutted on richness and welcome hyssop.  This distant silver November sky, these sere branches of trees, shed and bearing their pure and secret colors--this is the real world, not the world gilded and pearled.  I stand under wiped skies directly, naked, without intercessors.  Frost winds have lofted my body's bones with all their restless spirits to an airborne raven's glide.  I am buoyed by a calm and effortless longing, an angled pitch of the will, like the set of the wings of the monarch which climbed a hill by falling still.

I chose this little passage because it's about November.  Sere branches and frost winds.  How the world is sort of stripped down to reality by this month.  No green or red or mustard accessories for the bushes and trees.  Everything stands naked and pure.

Last night--Halloween--was a wreck of wind and cold.  Walking around with my kids was an exercise in balance and stamina.  Today, this first day of November, is gorgeously warm.  Near 65 degrees.  No wind.  When I stepped outside this afternoon, I thought to myself, "Where was all this shit yesterday?"

I have had little time to enjoy this last gasp of autumn warmth.  I've been working and grading.  And grading.  And grading.  I have been grading all day long.  Essay exams.  Thirty-five of them.  In about half an hour, I have to teach my composition class. Three and a half hours of research and writing.  I am not excited.  I am brain dead.

Of course, I have a lesson plan.  I'm just lacking the enthusiasm at the moment to put it into practice.  Never fear.  I always work up the energy and inspiration for teaching.  At the moment, though, my reserves of energy are rather low.

By the way, I saw something on Facebook today that went something like this:  "Don't be afraid to be racist.  Get out and vote."  That little bit of wisdom did not come from a Hillary Clinton supporter.  I'm even too tired to express sufficient outrage or shock.

Don't expect any wit from this tired saint tonight.  Marty needs a nap.

Well, that's pretty scary, isn't it?

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