The Love Of Bare November Days

Mood: cold-sodden and steaming in creative fervor…
low bruised clouds weep tears o`er the raging Sea…
A Study In Scarlet by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
Listening To:
Pilgrimage by Om

`Tis another week`s end and I find myself in familiar repose… the hour is late, or early (depending on your point of view) and I am out-of-doors.

Unable to still my mind, I abandoned all hope of turning in at a reasonable hour and sauntered silently downstairs. Throwing on my heavy coat and long scarve, I meander towards the distant crash of the Wind and Waves.

A meek and obstinate rain has fallen intermittently since late afternoon, joined in chorus by serrated flurries of light snow intermingled with the droplets. Cold. Wet. Brief sudden gales rise up out of the water and take my breath away, before vanishing as suddenly as they come. Waves froth in spitting crashes against the rocks and sandy shore.

Walking along the beach towards the highlands, I clench myself tighter and tighter to keep out the cold… but it finds ample in-roads through seam of cloth and bare forelock. I smile secretly in the dark, a smile that creases over chattering teeth.


“…vengeful across the cold November moors,
loud with ancestral shame there came the bleak
sad wind that shrieked, and answered with a shriek
reverberant through lonely corridors…”


Returning home, invigorated and chilled to the bone, I listen to the warm sonorous quietude of my sleeping household… low breathing murmurs, a muted electrical hum, and the dulcet tones of Nocturne V by Erik Satie surrounds my swirling thoughts. I smell the salty Sea on my clothing and the fragrant perfume of simmering Potpourri burning in the Study.

Gradually my eyes adjust to the flickering candlelight of the house, as gradually as my thoughts turn towards reflection and contemplation…

I think about the week that has just passed, my first week at my new teaching position… it has been a challenge, to say the least.

Nowhere have I seen such structure and discipline within the context of a public school. The faculty is surprisingly impressive in the patience and compassion they show towards their students, and give every appearance of taking their charges with a sobriety that I have scarcely seen in the context of formal education.

In this regard, I know I have found a place where I can feel at home – and, judging by the gracious compliments I have received over the last few days, I think the feeling is mutual.

May I rest well in the sweet bosom of my dear ones o`er this week`s ending, refreshed in the Worship of the LORD upon the `morrow, and return upon the beginning of a new week with a hearty vigor.

May GOD grant me the strength to be both a loving mentor and wise counselor to those in my care, that I might bring honor to Him with all that I am entrusted.


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