Woods

My Lower Paddocks


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.

I have always loved this poem by Robert Frost. I used to past his old home-steed from time to time when I went to visit my son, and I have a collection of his works. I don’t know if he wrote the poem I have posted above while he lived in Derry. The woods there have mostly gone to towns, but his old home still has the look and feel of a farm.

I moved to Canterbury a couple of months back, the idea being to scale down on size and perhaps have a place for a horse or two, a few stray cats, and maybe a pair of goat . We will see, as we will allow the plan to unfold as necessity, reason, and inclination sees fit; yes, mostly my wife’s.

But I took this picture this morning as I was letting the Dane and the Terrier have a romp outside. The sight so conjured up the beauty and stillness of that poem above.

It is a beautiful world, no matter the angst that is stirring on the winds of change and progress. We all have our baggage, our struggles, our concern for the future. We must not let that take away from the incredible times we live in, the great technology, the gifts of modern medicine, the ability to connect over vast distances, and in having all that I hope we never forget the greatest gift: Being a part of nature, the world, its people and its grand array of life, and should we get a chance to look up, may all of us feel a connection with the vast universe.

The babies who request I go outside