Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening

The holiday is over and the holidays are coming with one last sprint before rest. I heard that planets were illuminated above the moon and remembered I had seen them, unknowingly; had marveled at their brilliance. The sun was suspended in a mix of gold and flames and unnamed blue that separated clouds from earth like oil and water, raising the color up with magnification above the lower horizon. I later raced to friends under a sky of lightning like flashbulbs, and then low and distant. Then retreated back in clarity by grace and Christmas music. I hope you’re enjoying it too. And that you enjoy the following, a sort of winter tradition of finals, and maybe identify or mostly are encouraged at the solidarity– and then get to sleep soundly.


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.
-R.F.