November Surf

...this is not a blog post about how I have been surfing in November.  Nor is this a picture of November surf.  This is a blog post about how i've been waking up early so i can drink coffee under a down sleeping bag in the living room, dog at my feet, to watch the morning light fill the sky.  And this morning, i did all of that and added the luxury of reading some poetry to myself as morning broke. Here is one for you, called November Surf, by Robinson Jeffers.

November Surf

Some lucky day each November great waves awake and are drawn
Like smoking mountains bright from the west
And come and cover the cliff with white violent cleanness:  then suddenly
The old granite forgets half a year's filth:
The orange-peel, egg-shells, papers, pieces of clothing, the clots 
Of dung in corners of the rock, and used
Sheaths that make light love safe in the evenings:  all the droppings of the 
     summer
Idlers washed off in a winter ecstasy:
I think this cumbered continent envies its cliff then.... But all seasons
The earth, in her childlike prophetic sleep,
Keeps dreaming of the bath of a storm that prepares up the long coast
Of the future to scour more than her sea-lines:
The cities gone down, the people fewer and the hawks more numerous,
The rivers mouth to source pure; when the two-footed
Mammal, being someways one of the nobler animals, regains
The dignity of room, the value of rareness.