I love the sound of snow crunching together under my feet. Most times I like to take a path when I walk through it and then retrace my steps so as not to ruin the perfect blanket that is laid down. Having an indecisive dog that doesn't know where she wants to 'go' kind of ruins that but on this peaceful evening I am grateful. I am grateful for all the wonderful little things that we so often overlook.
The winter time, after the holiday season is over, makes me feel like hunkering down. What with the blanket of snow laying on the ground and the sun sinking well before 6 pm the quiet starts very early. Something about the heavy hanging clouds and the snow makes everything seem still and serene. The tree branches hang low, heavy with the the weight of freshly fallen snow. Beautiful. Peaceful. Full of wonder.
I'm not close to getting a job, in fact instead I'm teaching freshmen about nutrition, most of which don't salivate over nutrigenomics or locally grown organics [nothing like myself or my fellow nutrition nerds normally would]. I am however preparing myself for the big boards exam and searching for employment at a location that both seems fitting and desiring of my [cough] lack of experience.
And yet I am happy. I am content. I am here and I am trusting in the plan that will unfold as soon as I get my room cleaned up...which is very, very unorganized [but it will be immaculate very soon. My fascination with apartmenttherapy.com ever increasing].
sylyb.
Stopping by the 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.
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.
No comments:
Post a Comment