It's Friday . . . and we've got a blizzard-ish thing going on here in my neck of the woods. And it's rather frigid. Brrrrr.
Good time for some hunkering down.
Which is no problem for me. I have nowhere to particularly go today, plenty of books, plenty of yarn, leftover soup, pots of tea, and a good store of wine (for tonight).
(I love hunkering down when it's snowing!) (Best part of winter.)
I woke up this morning thinking of this Robert Frost poem, and thought I'd share it . . .
Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening
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.
Happy Friday, y'all. (Stay warm.)