...is willing to accept that she creates her own reality except for some of the parts where she can't help but wonder what the hell she was thinking.
~Thank you to Brian Andreas
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 5 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. 10 The only other sounds 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, 15 And miles to go before I sleep.
So simple and beautiful.
ReplyDeleteYou always have such beautiful pictures! Stay warm...
ReplyDeleteBrrrr.
ReplyDeleteOne of my favorite poems ever ..
ReplyDeleteWhose 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 5 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. 10 The only other sounds 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, 15 And miles to go before I sleep.
Very beautiful, Annie! Keep your tootsies warm!
ReplyDeleteBeautiful! I'm sure Frost would approve :-)
ReplyDeleteHow pretty. Send some snow my way, will ya?
ReplyDeleteNice shot.
ReplyDeleteSOOOO pretty!
ReplyDeleteLooks like here - we got a lot of that going on!
ReplyDeleteDaryl, that's one of my favorites, too. And Annie, I love this photo.
ReplyDelete