B E B E R E

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.