Some more images from our impromptu Saturday afternoon idyll:
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
***
Though the Solstice is still another month an a half off, a combination of factors (Olmsted's design, a fog rolling in off Boston Harbor and the early sunset - 4:30 pm) created such an atmosphere that only Frost's poem could have provided the rhythm for my footsteps.
Tuesday, November 08, 2005
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2 comments:
Gorgeous, Be! Well done!
Gee whiz, thanks. (red face)
There's always a song or a poem in the head. That one materialized when we first got walking and just wouldn't leave until I could exorcize it.
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