Not so here where November is delightful. Yesterday was a holiday:
Labour Thanksgiving Day (kinro kansha no hi):
A national holiday for honoring labour.
Hooray. A beautiful warm day. Humidity has gone and the weather reminds me of Spring in Provence. I do my usual day off activity which is to ramble around on my Big Red looking at stuff.
Gunpowder treason and plot
"No warmth, no cheerfulness, no healthful ease, No comfortable feel in any member - No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees, No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds - November!" - Thomas Hood, No!
I’ve got a lovely bunch of coconuts There they are all standing in a row Big ones, small ones, some as big as your head Give them a twist a flick of the wrist
Life is short, wear tropical shirts.
Butterflies are self propelled flowers.
Happiness is a butterfly, which when pursued, is always just beyond your grasp, but which, if you will sit down quietly, may alight upon you.
We delight in the beauty of the butterfly, but rarely admit the changes it has gone through to achieve that beauty.
November – in fact the end of November.