Stopping By the Woods

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.

I've loved this poem for many years and most of Robert Frost's poetry. While it appears to have a simplistic and straightforward meaning it does not and implies a depth of thought that belies the reader. However, I'm not going to offer an in depth analysis of this poem but reflect on what's transpiring outside my window as I type...it's snowing. It is truly one of my, if not most favorite weather phenomenons. I can't tell you the number of times I've been in the woods or possibly meandering down a trail in Colorado and watched and "felt" snow flittering down. There is but a arbitrary and unorthodox way in which a snowflake makes its journey to earth. I've often regarded snowing as rather charismatic. I'd probably get some argument from the patrons of Buffalo, or Fairbanks most likely their favorite color isn't white.

There is a deafening silence (which is quite paradoxical when you think about it)that perpetuates one's being. I can remember a time when I was in Estes Park hiking to Lily Mtn. with some friends and we could see the snow begin to cascade over the range. By the time we had reached the end of our trail and walking back to our car, the snow had filled the lot and we were knee deep in powdery and pristine flakes. And who cannot resist throwing oneself into this pillow of distinction and making "snow angels"? I often wonder if the crescendo of snow wasn't so muted, what sound would we apply to it?? I can only imagine very possibly a Beethoven Sonnet, or possibly something Shakespearean? Whatever symphony it would surely be something heavenly.

I'm offering up two images from several years ago when we had 10" of the white stuff fluff my yard and 3 of my favorites frolicking in the back yard.