November | A Dalectable Life

In Thursday’s dVerse, we are asked to write a Wayra (a Quechua (indigenous word for wind) and a popular form in Bolivia and Peru. What is it? It is:

a pentastich, a poem in 5 lines.
syllabic, 5-7-7-6-8
unrhymed.

As if that is not enough, Grace, the hostess, has asked us to include an onomatopoeia (word representing sounds: bang, thwack, etc.) How could I resist? Well, I could, but it’s funny. It just so happens on my second walk while waiting for my car on Wednesday, I recorded phrases, planning on turning them into a poem. For the second time, I end up writing a shorter version of what I had planned. I’m thinking the Universe knows my penchant for short and to the point.

I feel November

In-between time, that saddens

Tears hover, threaten to spill

Trees speak to me ~ swish

of leaves: Let it go. Let it go.

What is it about November in the northern hemisphere above the, say, the 35th parallel north, that is so drab and dreary?

Just a touch of colour

Tell you what. The trees are bare, the snow is not yet arrived to brighten up the place (or what little of it there may be is little and dirty), it rains, we set back the clock an hour (coz we all love to have it dark at 4:00 pm)… need I say more? My grandmother used to get so depressed during this month because there was nothing and no visitors found the need to visit “up north” as we used to call the two-hour drive to her place. In Canada, we celebrate Thanksgiving in October. Then the next holiday is Christmas. So, November? Blahsville.

Today was the perfect day to represent the November of which I speak. I drove my mother and her partner up to Hawkesbury to meet with my aunt who would take them the rest of the way. It was drizzling and grey all the way until we hit the Ontario border. The sun was trying desperately to burn through the grey and finally did kinda-sorta peep through, almost necessitating the slipping on of the shades. Almost.

After a teen burger at A&W, I said goodbye to the folks. I stopped to gas up, picked up the worst coffee in the world and made my way back home. Not smart to leave there after 2:00 pm as it meant I would arrive back in the Montreal area after 3:00 pm, or primetime traffic hour.

I swear, as soon as I crossed the border back into Quebec, the grey came back and the drizzle started up again. Really? Mother Nature pissed of at this part of Quebec, or something?

No matter. I was smart enough to take another way home, thereby avoiding the city completely. Why I hadn’t thought of it on my way up is beyond me. Mind you, traffic was endurable so…

As I was about twenty minutes from home, I could see across the highway to the Saint Lawrence River and the monotone colour made me think of this here post. So I took an exit that I thought would bring me one place but did not. It did, however, bring me to another spot that was perfect. I parked the car and made my way across an apartment building’s yard to the water’s edge and snapped a few pics.