As tiny pellets fall like fluffy rain and fill my front yard, I can’t help but feel thankful that winter has finally arrived in New England. Especially after a bizarre start to the winter with a red rose blooming in my front garden in mid-December and my wife spotting a pair of robins searching for worms a few days after Christmas.
So finally – snow.
And snow in New England generally has me thinking about Robert Frost and his beautiful reflection on mortality “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening.”
Whose woods this 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 it 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.
