The Dark Time of the Year

The next few weeks are my least favorite time of the year - it is cold - not so cold as in the "Frozen North" - but so cold that I got up and put on another night gown and a pair of socks last night.  I was still cold - an hour later, I got up and put another blanket on my side of the bed - The Shepherd kicks off most of his covers at one time or another during the night.  Go figure.

The song "Turning Toward the Morning" is a favorite of mine - I learned it many years ago from my friend & banjo teacher Mike Marker - The songwriter, Gordon Bok wrote it in response to a letter he received from a friend who was having a bad year - his words to her were full of encouragement that the morning always comes and spring will be here before you know it. 

Bok, who lives in Maine, rarely leaves the northeast, but if you get a chance to see him, don't miss it.  I found several renditions of the song by others on You-Tube but none that I would endorse by putting them here.  So you'll just have to believe me that this song will get you through the tough times.  


TURNING TOWARD THE MORNING
(Gordon Bok)

When the deer has bedded down
And the bear has gone to ground,
And the northern goose has wandered off
To warmer bay and sound,
It's so easy in the cold to feel
The darkness of the year
And the heart is growing lonely
For the morning

Chorus: 
Oh, my Joanie, don't you know
That the stars are swinging slow,
And the seas are rolling easy
As they did so long ago?
If I had a thing to give you,
I would tell you one more time
That the world is always turning
Toward the morning.

Now October's growing thin
And November's coming home;
You'll be thinking of the season
And the sad things that you've seen,
And you hear that old wind walking,
Hear him singing high and thin,
You could swear he's out there singing
Of your sorrow.

When the darkness falls around you
And the Northwind come to blow,
And you hear him call you name out
As he walks the brittle snow:
That old wind don't mean you trouble,
He don't care or even know,
He's just walking down the darkness
Toward the morning.

It's a pity we don't know
What the little flowers know.
They can't face the cold November
They can't take the wind and snow:
They put their glories all behind them,
Bow their heads and let it go,
But you know they'll be there shining
In the morning.

Now, my Joanie, don't you know
That the days are rolling slow,
And the winter's walking easy,
As he did so long ago?
And, if that wind would come and ask you,
"Why's my Joanie weeping so?"
Wont you tell him that you're weeping
For the morning?