Snow Day

One of my wishes is that those dark trees,
So old and firm they scarcely show the breeze,
Were not, as 'twere, the merest mask of gloom,
But stretched away unto the edge of doom. 
I should not be withheld but that some day
Into their vastness I should steal away,
Fearless of ever finding open land,
Or highway where the slow wheel pours the sand.
I do not see why I should e'er turn back,
Or those should not set forth upon my track
To overtake me, who should miss me here
And long to know if still I held them dear.
They would not find me changed from him they knew—
Only more sure of all I thought was true.


Into Into My Own, by Robert Frost


Although I’ve liked this poem for a long time, the truth is I would probably tire of the forest before it actually reached the edge of doom, and once there would almost certainly want company. I might steal away into the vastness, yes, but would eventually become afraid if, oh crap! apparently this forest really doesn’t ever lead to any open land!  Not only do I have good reasons to turn back, and am just fine with that, but I wouldn’t fool myself into thinking anyone is trudging after me because they want to know my feelings about them. Actions speak louder than words, Mr. Poet! Sounds to me like this fellow needs to embrace a little change in his life.

Case in point: when wandering into the woods this afternoon during the snow storm, out back where there are no real trails, and going just that little bit farther because I caught a shadowy glimpse of a deer off in the trees, I sure enough got turned around. Of course the snow was covering my tracks, and I’d have to say for about one full minute I was lost. By lost I mean I knew I had never been through that particular grove of trees before and I really wasn’t sure in what direction I was heading. I did not find myself wishing the trees stretched out to the very edge of doom, though I did have the sudden insight such a place is not necessarily defined by distance. 

I’m not a complete numbskull however, so before calling my wife and asking her to lay on the car horn so I could orient myself and get back home, I gave myself that minute.  Knowing the general lay of the land, I soon became confident I was heading in the right direction and eventually came to the stream which ran parallel to our field, and from there it was easy to get back. The whole experience didn’t last long, and I was never that far from home, but I’d be lying to suggest there wasn’t a wee bit of anxiety there for a moment.

For me, I think the returning is what brings surety. If I had kept going, who knows? They might have found me changed.


(Appendix: today was a snow day, which I discovered while lying comfortably in bed. The main photo is a composite from early and late in the day. The extra was taken on my wanderings out back.)