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.
going to check the mailbox...
Ah, my dear blog friends, I think that you are going to have to forgive me for this one. I think that there is an unwritten blog rule that says, "in March, one must post about crocus and daffodils and take many pictures of snowdrops to keep morale up!"
this was our world a week ago, and, even though it's, now, sugaring season (below freezing at night and mild thaw during the day which makes the sap run in the trees) and we have a few bare patches without snow on the ground, the only thing we can see that has survived the winter is the mud!
Yes, this is a beautiful Vermont March and I will celebrate it (for as long as I can without going insane for spring! ;-) )
Can you handle it for a moment more? (Wintry images, I mean - yet, surely, this is an early spring snow?!)
I promise to post something warm and cheery, next time! =]