I wrote this post last November about this song and was reminded of it this morning as I sit here at 7am all warm and toasty while wind and rain batterers against the balcony doors on this dark November morning. This is such a perfect song for today.
No shadow
No stars
No moon
No care
NovemberIt only believes
In a pile of dead leaves
And a moon
That’s the color of boneNo prayers for November
To linger longer
Stick your spoon in the wall
We’ll slaughter them allNovember has tied me
To an old dead tree
Get word to April
To rescue me
November’s cold chainMade of wet boots and rain
And shiny black ravens
On chimney smoke lanes
November seems odd
You’re my firing squad
NovemberWith my hair slicked back
With carrion shellac
With the blood from a pheasant
And the bone from a hareTied to the branches
Of a roebuck stag
Left to wave in the timber
Like a buck shot flagGo away you rainsnout
Go away, blow your brains out
November– Tom Waits
casa azahar 
ah Tom Waits…. love that gravelly voice
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Isn’t Tom fabulous?
I’m feeling especially cosy because my 9 o’clock student is in Rome this week, which saves me a 20-minute walk in this awful weather (though I think I’ll try to make it to a pilates class a bit later on).
Meanwhile, poor Nog has to leave for his first class in about half an hour and it’s totally pissing down – the kind of pissing down where you’d be soaked before you even crossed the street. Hope it lets up soon…
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