Winter Woods

I found myself ALONE at our house last weekend, before the snow was trampled by a thousand little footprints, so I took some photos. The whole time I was thinking of my grandmother’s favorite poem, by Robert Frost. She was a high school English teacher, and I’ve always been amazed at the amount of memorization that generation did. She and my grandfather (and my great-aunts and great-uncles) would spout poetry all the time. Clear up into their 80’s and 90’s…imagine having all that in your memory and in a spot you can find!

I can barely remember nursery rhymes to chant with my kids! Although just last night I whipped out a quote from Shakespeare as I was saying goodnight to my husband. And he was able to identify it. But I did crack my noggin yesterday, so that may have been an anomaly on my part.

Anyway, here’s the poem, and the photos, converted to black and white using Photoshop Elements. And thanks for my grandma for liking poetry that rhymes and is not completely beyond my understanding without hurting my already aching head!

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 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