Wednesday, November 9, 2011

Miles to go

It's fall. The woods on the road home have suddenly changed color, and it is beautiful. I've seen, among many other things, foxes, roe deer, red squirrels, buzzards, spars, and possibly (perhaps it is me being wishful) a goshawk while traveling this road. It's long and winding, and our daylight hours are shrinking. Soon it'll be snowing. Sometimes I jog it. When I do, I always think of the poem by Robert Frost:                    

"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's 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.

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