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.
This poem, of course, is the sublime "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening" by Robert Frost. I thought of it this morning when Washington awoke to a beautiful snow - white nestled on every branch, every limb, every twig. Glorious! Best of all, this little storm caused little delay, allowing our busy world to move on in spite of white and wonder.
So snow is one reason I'm poetic this morning.
The other: I'm working on the never-ending stockinette portion of my Handstrikket and believe me - I have miles to go before I sleep. I need to knit 15 inches of boring, one-color stockinette; thus far, I've finished only six. Even worse, this knitting venture gives yet another opportunity to lament my way-too-wide ass. Sigh... to be a skinny chick who can knit the bottom of a sweater in just a few nights!
Oh well. I have promises to keep and miles to go before I sleep... the stockinette ventures on.