Stalwart walker that I am, the wailing wind and freezing rain slanted right at me no matter how I turned by the beginning of a trail. It wasn’t a frosty whisper of snow, but an angry icy howl.
Maybe it’ll ease up in a bit I hoped, as I stood by a winter brown tree for protection, I realized no such luck. No. The frosty wind and sleet seared the ground and me. Oh well another day I venture out again for a hike.
I headed home. As I sat with hot tea and comfy slippers I reread this Frost poem with visions of sleigh rides dancing in my head.
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
BY ROBERT FROST
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.