The Road and November.

No warmth, no cheerfulness, no healthful ease,

No comfortable feel in any member--
No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees,
No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds,
November!

~ Thomas Hood (1799-1845)

I took my first step on the road of life in November - born into a chill and vaporous world, or so it always seemed to me as a child. I was aware of November because it was the month in which my birthday fell, and kids like birthdays. I would come home from school and then be sent out on my bike to get something from the shops before dinner. My recollection is that it was always dark and always damp and always chilly and always at least a little misty.

I don’t think I should like the road to end in November, though. If I had a choice, it would be September, so that I could either leave with the swallows or go to sleep with the trees. Maybe it could be on the very day that the hum of nature’s energy falls silent.

Somebody asked me recently what music I would choose for my funeral. I’ve considered that question often during my life as I discovered new things which fitted the occasion. My latest choice is this:

The lyrics are enigmatic, being about some maiden who sleeps on the moor for seven nights with only cold spring water for sustenance. No explanation for her action is offered, but the feel of the music meets with my approval.