My November Guest by Robert Frost
My Sorrow, when she’s here with me,
Thinks these dark days of autumn rain
Are beautiful as days can be;
She loves the bare, the withered tree;
She walks the sodden pasture lane.
Her pleasure will not let me stay.
She talks and I am fain to list:
She’s glad the birds are gone away,
She’s glad her simple worsted grey
Is silver now with clinging mist.
The desolate, deserted trees,
The faded earth, the heavy sky,
The beauties she so truly sees,
She thinks I have no eye for these,
And vexes me for reason why.
Not yesterday I learned to know
The love of bare November days
Before the coming of the snow,
But it were vain to tell her so,
And they are better for her praise.
I have always liked dreariness and the grey. I think rainy autumn days are some of the most beautiful. Unfortunately, I cannot always see the beauty in my own personal sorrow.
Everyone deals with sorrow in one form or another, usually as a passing feeling or in response to some outside event such as a death, the end of a relationship, or similar. Many women deal with a form of sorrow that comes along with a visit from ‘Aunt Flow’ (though, never try to tell a woman that while in the midst of that visit). For some, though, there’s no reason at all. The sun could be out. Children could be laughing. Butterflies could be flitting and birds singing and we sill want to hide behind closed curtains.
Such has been my problem of late, mixed with a frustration with technology in general. That is why I haven’t been making my usual posts and I am sorry for that.
I write and I don’t know where it’s going, so the urge to give up is more powerful than ever. I start reading, get a section in, and decide that perhaps I don’t want to do that either. I begin wrestling with an annoying computer program and it takes everything in me not to throw the whole computer into the yard. I try to help an especially difficult patron and, instead of having compassion and patience, I’m tempted more than ever to storm out of the building, slinging my ID badge at my boss as I go.
Like with the weather, like with cloudy days that don’t lend as much beauty as they usually do, the most anyone can do is hang on and wait. Eventually, the sorrow clears away. Eventually, things become easier and more simpler. Eventually, little things won’t make me break down into frustration or tears or a combination of the two.
I suppose other bloggers would list the ‘Top Five Things To Do When Depressed’ but I don’t find such lists to be helpful. And, dear reader, I don’t think you would find such a list very helpful. So, all I can say is hold on. Hold on for that moment when sorrow makes things beautiful again and no longer drags you down into the earth.
Hold on. The sun must emerge one day.