Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
by Robert Frost
We took our walk in late afternoon, on shank’s mare, as one of Frost’s farmers might have said. Most of these woods down the road from our hosue belong to a family who no longer live near, and rarely visit, but we have permission to admire and enjoy.
The snow is deep, so we stayed on the dirt road that has been beautifully plowed by our devoted town road crew.
The woods are lovely and deep, but the days are getting longer, the cold is less bitter and the wind is quiet. For the moment. Time to turn home.
The cats, Frank and Holly, left us to our adventure, waiting for us to join them again next to the woodstove.
Thank you Carolyn gail for inviting us to share visits from the muses.