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.
– Robert Frost
I thought about this poem when I came upon this scene, on the Mission Creek Greenway, and wanted to share it. Happy Friday everyone! (Don’t forget to comment on our last post for a chance to win a filtered water bottle from WaterGeeks)!
– Photo by Lori-Anne Poirier