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| Through the Woods |
Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village thought;
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.
Robert Frost
My father used to hold forth reciting poetry. And he encouraged us to read and memorize poems. Stopping in the Woods on a Snowy Evening was one of the first I learned. Mom had poetry books and this one was short. Because of how the book opened itself to this page I assumed it was a favorite. I first recited it for her on a Christmas Eve, which is otherwise lost in my memory.
Yes, these photographs are not of taken on a dark evening but usually in early hours of morning so the snow isn't messed up with car tracks other than mine. Yes, no little horse either. But I seldom stop and focus my camera on the snowy scene before me without lines of Mr. Frost's poem repeating in my head.
And these days, since my mother's death on a distant, but not forgotten, Thanksgiving not without tears.
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| The Fence Line |
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| Through the Woods |
Mother was a big believer in written correspondence. And picking out Hallmark cards to send for every occasion. I was expected by my Uncle Ray to take up that mantle of family communicator. And by fits and starts I tried. But I was definitely a disappointment to my mother's brothers.
And when holidays appear on the calendar I am disappointed too. Mother never let one pass without the appropriate Hallmark sentiment and handwritten note. I think of such things as I return, at the gentle urging of a friend, to not just email or personal message on a social platform but write a note with pen and paper and United States Postal Service stamp. And now, as preparations for the holiday market quicken, to make my own note cards.
Some are hand painted with watercolors, and some like those featured here, utilize my photography. I see the labor involved almost as my poor equivalent of a Navajo sand painting, or Tibetan mandala: a prayer or meditation as an apology for the past or wish for the future.
But they are just note cards. These are just a few of my favorite winter scenes.
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| Fresh Tracks |
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| Picnic Cancelled |
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| Freezing Pond |
May you have treasured memories which withstand the test of time and events.
