Yesterday began with a thick swath of fog and a crisp layer of frost. This type of weather always makes me want to venture to the Snohomish River. The low farmland valley collects the mists in its marshes while the frosty twigs twinkle in the sun. I brought Joey and the kids with me and we went for a drive and to lunch at the bakery. We saw a great big raven perched on a low branch over the road, a gnarled black tree speckled with bright red apples, a white horse in a green swamp, and hawks swooping for mice. My favorite was a big white skeleton of a tree backed up against a dark forest. Joey read this Robert Frost poem as we were driving back home:
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.