Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening 

by Robert Frost 

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's 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's 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 thought about this poem this morning as I looked out the window over the snow-covered landscape; the trees outlined in a blanket of white that traveled from our front door down to the lake, which looked as if it was made of stainless steel.

I have stood in those woods and lay down on the slope overlooking the frozen lake.  I have felt his weariness and understood the silent allure of the lovely dark and solitary woods.  

The woods are dark, but the snow is beautiful…and as the sound of harness bells shatter the stillness of the night air—he must make a choice.

I am struggling with the concept of being accountable.  I understand that this is not practical or particularly adult of me.  I am searching for a sense of peace in my life…a period of quiet, uninterrupted nothingness.

But that is not entirely true either.

How is it that all of your cells can cry out for solitude yet at the same time so fiercely fear monotony?  There are not a lot of things left for me to fear, but, I do fear that I will die having led an ordinary life.  By this I mean that I do not want my days to simply blend together.  I want to explore and exhaust my potential.  Yet, here I am—motionless between the woods and frozen lake.

I have a lot of ground to cover. For now it seems I am powerless to move.

...the woods are lovely dark and deep... 

Sometimes the most difficult promises to keep are those we make to ourselves.