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.
Robert Frost, Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
I often think of this poem whenever the woods beckon and I don’t have the time to linger and enjoy them. The ache I feel is worse if I’m already out there listening to the sounds of the forest and smelling the Balsam Firs, realizing I have to go in and do something in the house. At such times I repeat these words to myself,
The woods are lovely, dark and deep but I have promises to keep…
Somehow it makes me feel better to know that I’m not the only one who’s ever longed for the woods at such times. During the holiday season there are SO many promises to keep. Especially on these, the longest evenings of the year.