I'll tell you, it's no secret, November around here in't supposed to be bright and sparkly!
Most years we get that creepy fella EDGAR ALLEN POE to do November up.
Last night, tho, he took sick or somethin.
Had to call in his understudy, one Mr JACK FROST. AND, he called back the star of the summer season for an encore, good ol MISTER SUNSHINE!
Mr Sunshine wan't able to do much about it bein wicked cold, but that's how Mr Frost likes it.
He does his work in black and white with potloads of sequins.
None of that ice cream smooth sparkle of snow, mind you, with cute little caps on the fence posts and apples.
The EN-TIRE apple, the COM-PLETE fencepost, EVERY DANG SURFACE of each TWIG, BRANCH and GRASSBLADE -- sparkly sparkly white.
And that there riot of grace and texture...you know, the WEEDS...pure poetry. pure poetry and dance, froze inna place.
Sweet jesus it's cold. I blieve i can hear the woods tinkling and chiming.